


That Which is Lost

by cytheriafalas



Series: Hope/Lost Verse [2]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:39:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 49,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytheriafalas/pseuds/cytheriafalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the sequel to Hope for Our Happy Endings. It's been five years since Taemin and Minho met, and one since the epilogue of Hope. The working title to this was Hope for Our Happy Endings II: Makoto's Revenge, which should give you an idea what it's about. Taemin goes back to Makoto, back to prostitution and heroin. Minho, Key, Jinki, and Jonghyun have to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Minho had learned a lot of ways to help Taemin over the years. He’d figured out that sometimes, when the worst of the aches came back, all Taemin needed was to hear Minho tell him it would pass. He knew that when Taemin was sick, he was _sick_. There was no halfway for him, no “I think I’m getting sick.” It was an unfortunate consequence of a wracked, abused immune system. He understood, gradually, that when Taemin curled against Minho at night, it was sometimes that Taemin needed reminding that someone loved him so unconditionally that he didn’t mind being woken at four in the morning just to tell Taemin he loved him and kiss him before falling back asleep.

There were also a lot of things Minho didn’t understand about Taemin. He didn’t know how Taemin could stand the hours Minho worked and never once complain. He worried, sometimes, that Taemin stayed with him because he didn’t think he had anywhere else to go. He never figured out how Taemin could still see scars on his arms that Minho could never see. He watched Taemin flinch away from touches and wondered why Taemin was willing to be in a relationship with someone who reminded him so obviously of the worst times of his life.

He also realized that none of those things mattered at all when he was crashed on the couch in the middle of the day after a week of night filming and woke up to Taemin whispering his name, still drenched in sweat and smelling of the dance school, helping him from the couch to the bed, and soothing him back to sleep. It was those nights that he came home at two or three in the morning, exhausted and crabby, to find a plate of still-warm food sitting on the table with a note written in Taemin’s handwriting, saying he loved him and to make sure to eat something so he didn’t get sick. He lived for those rare days that he didn’t have filming and Taemin didn’t have to teach, so they could sit on the couch and Minho could hold Taemin close and kiss him because he wanted to.

Lately, something had changed. Taemin was quieter than usual, reaching out for Minho more often. Taemin insisted nothing was wrong. Minho came home as often as he could, but nothing he did stopped the way Taemin kept pulling away, even if he physically tried to stay closer.

It was on one of these days that Minho came home midday and heard no response from Taemin when he called his name from the doorway. Minho found Taemin sitting in the living room, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs. Minho crouched down in front of him, and Taemin still didn’t seem to notice.

“Taemin?”

Taemin jumped, his eyes suddenly refocusing on Minho’s face. He smiled, uncurling and patting the couch next to him. Minho took the offered seat.

“What were you thinking about, love?” Minho asked.

“Nothing really,” Taemin confessed. “I was just… sitting there.”

Minho frowned, pressing the back of his hand to Taemin’s forehead. Taemin pulled away.

“I’m not sick.”

“I’m just worried about you.”

Taemin relented, leaning against Minho’s shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll be okay.”

“I’ve got to get back to work in an hour,” Minho said, holding his arm out for Taemin to curl up against him. “Are you hungry?”

He shook his head, hair brushing against Minho’s cheek. “I ate not too long ago. Can you just…”

Minho adjusted himself on the couch, sliding further back so there was enough room for Taemin to lie down, his head resting on Minho’s lap.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Minho asked one last time, resting his hand on the top of Taemin’s head. Taemin nodded again, his eyes drifting closed and his body gradually stilling in sleep.

It hurt him to see Taemin like this, lost and alone. Nothing Minho did helped. His hands could soothe the hurts of the moment; letting Taemin rest against him held the pain away until he woke. He knew Taemin still loved him, he could see it in the bright shine of his eyes when he laughed, as high and as bright as it had been the first time he’d heard it through broken lips. He knew it because Kibum insisted, swearing that whatever Taemin was going through, _he still loves you_ , _please don’t give up on him_. Mostly, he knew because Taemin told him so, when they lay together in bed, or after pressing a quick kiss to Minho’s cheek before he left for work in the morning.

An hour later, Minho had no choice but to gently extricate himself from Taemin’s embrace, kissing him on the forehead. Taemin’s hand caught his, still half asleep.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Minho smiled, leaning down to catch Taemin’s lips in a kiss. “I love you too. I’ll be home around eight tonight. We have a few days off after that. We can spend some more time together then.”

When he came home that night, parking the car just past eight, the house was dark and silent. There was a note lying on the table, next to a plate of cold food.

            _Minho,_

_I’ll be back later. I wanted to take a walk. I should be back before too long._

_Love,_

_Your Taemin_

He fell asleep on the couch not too long later, drained from months of eighteen or twenty hour work days. He didn’t realize until nine the next morning that Taemin had never come to lead him to bed.

That shocked him awake, grabbing for his cell phone. The battery blipped at him, but he had no messages. A quick search showed him the house was still empty, the note where he’d left it last night.

Minho plugged his phone in and dialed Kibum’s number. Kibum was half-asleep when he finally answered.

“What?”

“Is Taemin there?”

“No. Why?”

“He went for a walk last night and never came home. None of his things are missing, just a jacket and his shoes.”

Kibum swore, sounding very suddenly wide awake. He heard a rustling, presumably of blankets. “Jinki, wake up. Call Jonghyun and get him to Minho’s house. Did anything seem wrong last time you saw him?”

“No more so than usual.” Minho dropped into one of the chairs in his kitchen, wracking his mind for anything that had been different. He could hear Jinki talking rapidly in the background. “He seemed as happy as I’ve seen him in weeks.”

“What did he say to you before he left?”

“He left a note. Something about going for a walk and he shouldn’t be too late. I fell asleep…”

“I’m sure he’s fine. I know someone we can talk to if he’s not back by the time we get there. Take a shower, get dressed, eat something. Try to relax. He’ll be fine and we’ll be there soon.”

Minho did as Kibum said, and twenty minutes later he heard a sharp knock at the door. Kibum, Jonghyun, and Jinki were all there, Jinki’s car still idling in the street.

“Is he back?” Kibum asked. When Minho shook his head, Kibum sighed, tugging his sleeves further down his wrists. “All right. Well, we can go talk to an old friend of ours. He’s… You’ll see.”

“I’m all for getting Taemin back,” Jonghyun said, following Kibum, “but what exactly do you mean?”

Kibum didn’t answer until they were all seated in the car. He gave Jinki directions with quick hand gestures and the occasional, “other lane, honey.”

“He’s a gunrunner,” Kibum said at last. “The best in the business and the only one of them I’d trust.”

“You’d trust a gunrunner?” Jonghyun asked.

“I’d trust _him_. He’s got eyes all over the city. If Taemin is somewhere, he’ll know, or he’ll know where we need to go to find him.”

Minho watched as the bright city center of Seoul passed them by. As they drove, the city darkened, the buildings beginning to crumble and graffiti appeared on doorways, proclaiming gang territory. The people began to move more furtively, hands stuffed in pockets and heads down, skittering from doorway to doorway.

“Pull over,” Kibum said. “The car will be safer here than anywhere else. Please don’t antagonize him.”

Jinki pulled the car into the vacant lot. The buildings around had noticeably less graffiti than even the ones across the street, but they looked more run down. There was nobody in sight except a cat slinking along the edge of a building. It looked the car over and then hopped cleanly through an empty window, vanishing inside.

Without any further hesitation, Kibum got out of the car and strode toward the building into which the cat had disappeared, slamming the door open hard enough to make it shake as it reverberated off the wall. The other three men had to jog to keep up with him. The doorway led into an empty, dark hallway. Kibum seemed to know exactly where he was going, bypassing the first three doors and throwing open the fourth.

There were no windows, although there were a few bare bulbs illuminating the room. Four men were standing, all facing the door with hands going to pockets that Minho was fairly willing to believe held weapons. The fifth, the one that caught his attention, was reclining in the chair, entirely too calm. He was smiling faintly, amused, completely unfazed by their sudden arrival and Minho understood why Kibum couldn’t say any more about him than “you’ll see.”

“Where is he?” Kibum demanded. Minho internally flinched at his tone. He didn’t think this was the type of person you were allowed to mouth off to.

The man sat forward, tipping a cat Minho hadn’t noticed off his lap. The cat gave a disgruntled meow and strode off, twitching its tail.

“Is that any way to greet me?”

“Heechul.” Kibum’s voice was almost a growl.

Heechul sighed theatrically and stood, flicking his wrist. “Go,” he said to the rest of the men in the room. “You all have things to be doing anyway. Zhou Mi, take Ryeowook with you. And don’t _mess it up_ this time. Fuck.”

The two he singled out departed through the door Minho, Kibum, Jinki, and Jonghyun had entered through, while the other two vanished through a door behind Heechul’s chair.

“Key, if you’re not careful, I’m going to have to make an issue of you speaking to me like that,” Heechul said.

Kibum snorted and suddenly all Minho could see was the Key he’d first met, angry and harsh.

“You wouldn’t. Where is he?”

“Didn’t I tell you to take care of him?” Heechul asked.

“I did what I could,” Kibum protested. “I thought we were okay. Fuck, Heechul, it’s been five years. Why would I think he’d just take off like this?”

“Because you know the kid.”

“Just tell me where he is and we’ll be done with it. Do you have him?”

Heechul shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair. “We were too slow. Ryeowook saw him walking into one of Makoto’s houses last night.”

“Who took him there?” Kibum asked.

“He went by himself.”

“That’s not possible,” Minho said.

Heechul’s eyes swept over Minho, looking him up and down and promptly dismissing him. Jinki didn’t fare any better, but Heechul’s gaze lingered on Jonghyun for a few extra seconds. Minho thought it was probably because he was the only one of them who looked like he may possibly be able to handle himself. Heechul turned his attention back to Kibum.

“Which one?”

“He’s not there anymore,” Heechul said. “Makoto cleaned the entire house out by five. A couple of his women are still there, but they don’t know anything.”

“Heechul, you didn’t.”

“I sent Zhou Mi. He’s gentle.”

“As gentle as a boulder to the head,” Kibum grumbled, but he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Because you don’t ‘stop’ Makoto. I can’t start a war with him. There’s no way we’d survive that and I have people to keep alive.”

“All right. Fine. What _do_ you know?”

“Exactly what I told you. He walked in at just after midnight. People started trickling out at one-thirty. By three, Makoto walked out with Taemin,” Heechul hesitated, his eyes landing again on Minho and he realized he probably was not going to like what Heechul said next. “He had some of his people practically carrying Taemin. He looked out of it. I would bet one of my shipments against a doll that he’d gotten his heroin.”

That pronouncement was met by silence.

“I’m sorry,” Heechul said. “That’s all I have for you. Kyuhyun lost him somewhere across the river. Southside.”

Kibum nodded slowly, something on his face crumbling. “Thank you.”

Heechul wrote something on a sheet of paper, pressing it into Kibum’s palm. They were almost out the door, Minho held up between Jinki and Jonghyun, when they heard Heechul’s voice again.

“Find him and bring him home. If anyone deserves to get out of this alive, it’s you two.”

As soon as the door shut, Minho’s knees buckled. Jonghyun made a quick grab for him, pulling him back to his feet. Jinki’s hand rested on Minho’s back.

“We’re almost to the car,” Jonghyun said, his voice careful and soothing. Kibum held the front door open for them. “Come on. Keep walking. You can collapse as soon as we get there.”

He made it to the car and Jonghyun slipped in next to him. They all sat in silence for a few seconds. Minho didn’t think he would have heard them if they were talking. Everything had faded behind a dull roar in his ears, his stomach twisting.

He’d known something was wrong with Taemin, but his boyfriend been so insistent that it wasn’t anything that he’d let it pass. He shouldn’t have. He should have been home with him. As if knowing what he was thinking, Jonghyun gripped Minho’s chin, forcing his eyes up.

“Minho, this _is not your fault._ None of this is your fault. We’re going to get him back. I swear to you, we’re getting Taemin back.”

“How?”

“I know who runs the southside,” Kibum said, amid giving Jinki directions. “Whatever Heechul doesn’t know, he will.”


	2. Chapter One

Taemin had needed to get out of the house and breathe. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why he itched and hurt and ached so suddenly. Nothing had changed, nothing about Minho or himself or he and Minho together. He still danced and usually he still smiled and laughed. He still loved Minho more than he’d once even thought was possible, but the house was suffocating.

He pulled on his jacket, over two long-sleeved shirts despite the midsummer heat, and slipped outside, locking the door behind him. He found himself walking aimlessly, further and further out of the city, following routes he knew in the darkest depths of his heart.

He was tired. It was a relief, somehow, that he didn’t have to try anymore. There was only a soft voice that he buried deeper and deeper within him with every step.

It didn’t feel long, although it had to have been hours, before the door was there in front of him. There was still time to turn around and go home and throw himself into Minho’s arms. He’d left his phone back at the house, but he glanced down at his watch. The hands were bunched together at the top, pointing directly at the door in front of him. Midnight. He’d been walking for almost four hours.

Taemin lifted his hand and knocked. The door swung open, revealing a man he didn’t recognize, but who lead Taemin silently down the hallway. The man, whoever he was, had been used up completely. He remembered seeing people like that, men and women, who could no longer even whore. They were hardly people by the time Makoto finished with them. It was the fate Taemin had been resigning himself to before he met Minho.

Makoto was, Taemin was surprised to see, somewhat less intimidating than he had been when he’d stood there years ago, listening to Key demand Makoto let them go. His smile was the same as ever, more of a sneer, knowing Taemin had crawled back to him, just as he’d predicted.

“My little Taeminnie,” he said, turning slowly to face him. The man at Taemin’s side retreated to the doorway, but didn’t leave. “What brings you here?”

“I need heroin,” Taemin said. He was almost proud his voice didn’t shake.

“Can you afford it?”

“I’ve got some money.”

Makoto scoffed. “ _You_ don’t pay in money.”

Taemin shook his head, folding his arms over his stomach. Something about this made him feel like he was sixteen again, trying to stand up to the man who had the power to kill him however he wanted. He could do it himself, he could have any number of his people do it. He could turn his back on Taemin and leave him to the gangs, the police, the people on the street. He could let Taemin starve to death or die of hypothermia.

“I don’t do that anymore.”

“I’m sure you don’t. You want the heroin?” Taemin nodded. Makoto nodded to the man by the door. “I’ll give you this dose and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

The man helped Taemin out of his jacket and pulled both sleeves up. He took Taemin’s arm beneath his, pinning it against his body to hold him still as he felt the first pinch of the needle. He felt a sudden spasm of panic and fear and then he was gone, a brilliant rush of heroin coursing through his blood. He dropped hard to his knees, gasping at the feeling he’d almost forgotten, his mind and body disengaging.

Some time later, he’d already lost all sense of how long, Makoto’s face swam in front of his. His voice echoed when he spoke, which Taemin found slightly funny.

“You want more?”

Taemin held out his hand by way of answer. At least he thought he did. He never really saw his hand move, but he was certain it had. Makoto nodded, gesturing. People surrounded him, heaving him up on his feet.

Sometimes he thought it was just one or two people, but other times it felt like five or six. They led him, carried him, down hallways and through doorways, into moving things that might have been a car, but could have been the back of a truck because he didn’t think he remembered sitting, through some more doors and hallways until they dropped him on an unfamiliar bed and Taemin was lost again.

Everything faded in and out for what could have easily been an hour or a month. Each time he felt himself rising out of the fog there was another prick of the needle and he was gone again. In his vague, hazed mind he couldn’t remember why he would ever have given this up, the warmth and the bliss. There was no pain where he was, nothing but a small, niggling voice that only appeared in the moments before he got another dose.

He remembered, in the indistinct way he remembered anything in this state, arms around him, broad shoulders, hands that brushed hair out of his face, and warm lips against his. He couldn’t find a face or a name to go with the sensations, couldn’t even remember a whisper of a voice.

There was a voice, but it wasn’t one he recognized. It wasn’t Key. It wasn’t Makoto. He caught glimpses of a man with dark, messily spiked hair. He wasn’t the one who had led him into the building. There was still some anger in this one. Taemin could see it burning in his eyes when he was lucid enough to make those judgments.

Gradually the drug faded and he rose to the surface, to a wracked, aching body. He couldn’t remember then why he’d ever do something to himself that made him feel this miserable afterwards.

“You awake?” a voice asked from across the room.

Taemin turned his head to see who was speaking. It was the man he remembered seeing flashes of when he remembered anything at all, with the mussed hair and angry eyes. The motion made his head hurt. “How long have I been here?”

“Not quite two days,” he said, rising from the chair and sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached for Taemin’s forehead, but Taemin flinched away, half-raising a weak arm to fend him off.

The man left his hand hanging in the air. “Take it easy. I’m just checking your pupils.”

“Who are you?” Taemin asked.

“Jiyong,” he said, reaching for something behind him. He held up a needle. “More?”

Taemin shook his head, ignoring the muttered “Let me know when you change your mind.” There was somewhere he had to… He sat up fast enough to make the room spin faster than it already was.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” Taemin hissed, trying to kick the blankets off his body and get out of the bed. Jiyong caught him when he stumbled. “No, I have to go.”

“Go where?”

“Minho. He’s going to kill me.”

“Isn’t it better that you’re here then?”

“No. No, that’s not what… I have to get back home.”

Jiyong cleared his throat and nodded toward the door. “It’s locked from the outside.”

“Locked?”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t die and that you don’t leave. You owe Makoto a lot of money and he’s not letting that go. He’s actually not too excited about letting _you_ go, but I don’t really think he’s planning on it. I don’t ask questions. I just do what he says.”

Despite his words, he could see traces of pity on Jiyong’s face and Taemin, sinking back onto the bed, couldn’t bring himself to hate the older man. He knew how this worked. He’d known when he stepped out of his house, with every step he’d taken closer and closer to Makoto. You did what Makoto said. It didn’t matter how you felt about it. He owned you, even when you thought he didn’t.

“What did he say my repayment was?”

Jiyong didn’t answer. Taemin was about to ask him again, insist that he hear the words he knew were coming, but there was the click of a lock and the door swung open.

“Is he ready?” the man asked. His voice was startlingly deep, even coming from someone of his build. “Makoto wants to see him.”

Jiyong nodded, helping Taemin to his feet. Outwardly he seemed relaxed, but Taemin could feel Jiyong’s fingers digging into his elbow. He had no choice. They moved together out the door, the second man falling into place behind him.

The hallways were all identical, dark walls with the faint remnants of paint and uncovered concrete floors. Even all of the doors looked alike, dark wood without windows. A select few had padlocks on the outside, most of which were locked. From behind a few of those, Taemin could hear screaming or sobbing. Others were too silent.

The room they led him to was sparsely furnished, but Makoto still sat like a god. There were only a few other people in the room, crowded in the corners like cattle in a slaughterhouse. “Taeminnie,” he said, a greasy smile growing on his face. “How are you feeling?”

He felt miserable. He was nauseous and sick, hungry and not at the same time.

“Fine.”

Makoto’s smile grew. Taemin felt a wave of fear-inspired adrenaline rise through his body. “Take a seat. Let’s talk.”

He passed Taemin a slip of paper, which Taemin unfolded. The amount of money there was definitely more than Minho made in a year.

“It says--”

“I know what it says,” Taemin interrupted, crumpling the paper and tossing it aside. “This isn’t the street price of heroin.”

Makoto looked furious that Taemin would dare talk over him, but he didn’t say anything. Taemin didn’t think that he would be able to hold his own if Makoto got truly angry, which was bound to happen soon. He really had never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“This is a special blend. My blend.”

“No one’s buying it at that price.”

“No,” Makoto agreed. The smile came back. “But then again, you don’t have a choice now, do you?”

He was right. Taemin didn’t have a choice.

“A week,” Makoto said. “Seven appointments and, as long as you don’t keep using my drugs, you’re free. Every extra dose is another day.”

“No.”

Makoto shrugged and turned his back on Taemin. He’d expected Makoto to shout, or to hit him. He knew how to deal with that. It usually involved prostrating himself on the ground, to wait for Makoto’s fury to ebb. His silence was more frightening than his shouting had ever been.          He felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him away. Taemin went willingly until he realized that the hands were not leading him back to the room in which he’d woken up.

“Where are we going?”

Neither man answered. Jiyong’s hand tightened on his arm when he tried to stop, forcing him along.

“Jiyong--”

“I’m sorry,” Jiyong said. “I really am, but we don’t have a choice.”

Taemin pulled back hard enough to almost make Jiyong lose his hold, but another hand caught his other arm, strong fingers wrapping around his bicep. Between the two of them they hauled him down the hallway.

“No. No, please.”

“It’s easier if you don’t fight,” the other man offered, but his hands didn’t gentle. If anything, they tightened until Taemin gasped in pain.

“Seunghyun,” Jiyong murmured. The grip loosened slightly, but not enough for Taemin to break free.

“I don’t do this anymore,” Taemin protested, pushing back. “I can’t. Don’t do this.”

“Stop fighting us,” Seunghyun said, his other hand tightening on Taemin’s wrist until he whimpered. “The faster you go, the sooner it’ll be over.”

“No. _No_ , I can’t. Minho. Just let me go back to Minho.”

They slowed in front of a closed door. Taemin could hardly breathe, his throat constricting with terror. He looked at Jiyong, sensing he would get more from him than Seunghyun, who was simply standing, keeping his grip on Taemin.

“ _Please_. Please, I just want to go back to Minho.”

Jiyong let go and stepped in front of him, brushing a few tears off Taemin’s cheeks. “Just remember to relax and breathe. It’ll be over soon. He doesn’t last long anyway.”

He reached back and opened the door. He and Seunghyun pushed Taemin through the doorway, shutting him inside. He lifted his eyes to the man lounging on the bed and swallowed back a sob.

\---

Seunghyun was waiting when Taemin stepped back outside, clutching his arms around himself. There were no tears on his cheeks, which he considered his only victory in the last two days.

“Are you okay?” Seunghyun asked. Taemin nodded. Seunghyun was surprisingly gentle, slipping an arm around Taemin’s waist and helping him down the hallway. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “If I could have done something, I would have.”

“I know.”

The room he had been staying in with Jiyong finally came into view, the open padlock hanging from the wall. Seunghyun helped him in, easing him down onto one of the two beds. While Jiyong was coming to his side, the door shut, locking the three of them in the room. Neither of the two other men even looked.

“Jiyong?” Taemin asked hesitantly. “Is… Do you have some from this morning?”

“It’s an extra day,” Jiyong said, but he retrieved the needle from the table in the corner anyway.

“I don’t care.”

He didn’t see the look Jiyong passed to Seunghyun over Taemin’s head.


	3. Chapter Three

“Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to be?” Jinki asked. They were parked outside an old rundown club.

Kibum nodded, his lips pressed tightly together. “This is the address Heechul gave me. If he knows nothing else, he’ll always know where Siwon is.” He took a deep breath, turning his gaze toward his boyfriend. “I want you to stay in the car.”

“What?” Jinki asked. “Kibum--”

“I’ll take Jonghyun and Minho if you want, but please, just stay in the car.”

“Why?”

Kibum took another calming breath. Minho could see him rubbing his hands against his jeans. He and Jonghyun studiously pretended not to somewhere else while simultaneously listening as closely as they could.

“I was one of his favorites,” Kibum said at last, his eyes darting between Jinki and the steering column. “He was kinder to me than any of the others, but I don’t know… It would be easier if you weren’t there for this meeting.”

Jinki didn’t have much choice and he knew it. Minho dropped his gaze when Jinki reached for Kibum’s hand.

“I love you,” Jinki said.

Kibum leaned across the car and kissed him. “I love you. I’ll be back soon. Siwon’s people aren’t the type to bother you, especially if you’re not bothering them.” He looked into the back seat. “Let’s go, if you want to come.”

Minho and Jonghyun scrambled out of the car after Kibum. Minho cast one last look back at Jinki, sitting in the car with his head in his hands. His own heart ached a little bit for what he knew Jinki would be going through, but he shook it off and followed Kibum.

There was a man standing just inside the doorway. He took one look at Kibum and let him pass. A second man materialized out of the darkness and led them silently up two sets of stairs. He pointed at the door at the end of the hallway and vanished again. It was unnerving. Kibum hesitated, his hand resting on the door handle, but after a breath he shoved it open and stepped through, Minho and Jonghyun following.

There were two men inside. One was standing with his hands at his sides, facing away from the door. The other one was lounging on a leather couch with an array of papers spread out on the low table in front of him. He lifted his head, eyed the three of them, and then looked back down at the papers.

“These three are good.” He tapped one. “This is not. Get it fixed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Donghae, while you’re at it, check on the printers. If they keep moving this slow, we’re not going to meet our deadline.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then we’re going to lose a lot of money.”

“Yes, sir.”

Donghae gathered up the papers and worked his way past them, shutting the door behind him. Siwon leaned back on the couch, eyeing Kibum with an expression Minho was fairly certain Jinki wouldn’t have liked.

“That traitorous bastard tell you where I’m operating now?” Siwon asked. His voice was smooth and he was smirking.

“Last time I saw you it was either ‘traitor’ _or_ ‘bastard,’” Kibum said. “What’d he do?”

“He stole Hankyung,” Siwon spat.

Minho saw Jonghyun looking at him and shrugged when their eyes met. He had no idea what they were talking about, but it must have been significant to Kibum, because he just rolled his eyes.

“I told you to be careful with him.”

Siwon shook his head, brushing a fringe of hair out of his eyes. “Well?” he asked at last. “I don’t think you’re here because you missed me.”

“I need your help,” Kibum said.

“What are you looking for?”

“Taemin.”

Siwon exhaled heavily, sitting forward. He looked up at Kibum for a long second, trying to read something in Kibum’s face that Minho couldn’t see. At last he looked away, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“I can’t do that.”

“Siwon--”

“Just let him go.”

To Minho’s surprise, Kibum sat on the table in front of the couch, leaning forward slightly to put his hands on the other man’s knees. Siwon ignored him, reading through something on his phone. Kibum’s hands stayed where they were, a gesture so familiar, so intimate, it made Minho uncomfortable.

“Please,” Kibum whispered.

“I _can’t_.” Kibum just looked at him with the kind of patience that Minho had always found fascinating. “What’s in it for me if I do?”

“I’m not for sale.”

Siwon laughed, but it was humorless. “You’re always worth a try. Is that your boyfriend you left in the car?” When Kibum didn’t answer he waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter. I liked the kid, but there’s nothing I can do for you. There are more people at stake here than just Taemin. I’m sorry, but I’m not challenging Makoto.”

“You did once.”

“Yeah, and you remember what happened? Half of my people got killed, the rest of us got split up and he shipped a bunch of them out to Busan.” He finally sounded angry, but not at Kibum, or even really Makoto.

“Fuck! You and Heechul both! You’re scared of him because he beat you once.”

“Ask Heechul for help then,” Siwon snapped, finally standing. “Makoto teaches his lessons well, and I learn them better.”

“You said you loved me once,” Kibum said, voice suddenly quiet. He glanced once at Minho and Jonghyun, then back toward Siwon, although he stared at the older man’s knees, his head down. “If you ever really did, please, help me find him. I can get him out on my own, but I need to find him first.”

“You do not get to ask me that,” Siwon hissed. Kibum made a move to start speaking, but Siwon spoke over him. “I tell you where he is, Makoto finds out, and you know who ends up dead? Not you or me. It’ll be my people, my Henry and my Yesung and my Hyukjae paying my price.”

“Then _help me_ ,” Kibum said. “You know where Makoto took him.”

“I don’t. I know of two dozen of Makoto’s whorehouses in the city. We both know there are more. He’s pulling in so much money that _I_ can’t even keep track of it all. He has four different launderers, his properties have mysteriously ‘vanished’ off the public records. There’s nothing I can trace for you.”

“You have Shindong. He can trace anything.”

Siwon was silent for a moment before he swore. “Get out. I’ll call you if he has something for me. I swear, Key, if my people get killed over this I am hunting you down and making you pay for every single one of their lives.”

Kibum smiled, a true happy smile and Minho hated him just then, simply because he _could_ smile, and darted from the room, pulling Minho and Jonghyun behind him by their wrists. Minho followed him silently until they reemerged into the early afternoon light.

“How are you smiling?” Minho demanded, jerking his wrist free. “Do you even know what could be happening to Taemin right now?”

“Don’t think for one second that you know more about what he is going through than I do,” Kibum snarled, rounding on Minho, his smile vanishing.

Minho heard the car door open. Jinki was there, one hand on his boyfriend’s waist. Jonghyun’s fingers curled around Minho’s shoulder, holding him in place as though he were going to lunge across the space between them.

Jonghyun moved first, pulling Minho a few steps back and moving between them. “I know you’re worried, but let’s go home for now. As soon as we know something, we can move.”

“When will we know something?”

“As soon as he does,” Kibum said, pointing toward the building. “His people are better, faster than any official line we could try.”

“We can’t wait.”

“What do you propose we do, then?” Kibum asked. “Start knocking on doors?” He scoffed. “That’s likely. He could have just as easily brought Taemin to Busan.”

Minho closed his eyes and let his head fall forward onto Jonghyun’s shoulder. Jonghyun put his arm around his shoulders.

“We’ll find him and bring him home, Minho.”

“If he’s using again, I don’t know if I can help him.”

Jonghyun shushed him, moving him to the car and easing him inside. Kibum followed, sullen and silent. Even Jinki was quiet, accepting Kibum’s directions without question. Minho sat pressed against Jonghyun’s side, letting him grant what comfort he could.

Minho’s eyes closed, a full morning of stress crashing down on his shoulders now that he wasn’t moving, wasn’t searching. Despite his anger, he knew Kibum had done everything he could to find Taemin, and now all that was left was to wait for word.

Jonghyun woke him when they arrived at his house, helping him up the stairs and onto the couch in the living room. He sat purposely on the opposite side from where he usually was, far from where Taemin should have been curled, a book open in front of him. Kibum dropped onto a chair, his head in his hands. Minho should have felt some sort of camaraderie with him; he was the only other person who may have understood. Instead he averted his head, staring at the stain on the carpet, where Taemin had spilled red wine the day they’d moved in.

Jinki moved into his field of vision, pressing a glass into Minho’s hands. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Water?” Minho asked.

“Drink it.”

He shrugged and sipped at it, listening to Kibum explain what had happened at Siwon’s empty club. He’d gotten as far as Donghae leaving, having provided everyone they’d seen with names that Minho didn’t remember, when he realized his eyes would hardly stay open. Kibum was telling them what Siwon trafficked in when Minho’s eyes closed completely and his head dropped back onto the couch.

“He’s out,” Jonghyun announced.

Kibum eyed the sleeping man. “You two can carry him to his bed. I can’t believe you slipped him sleeping pills.”

“He would have spent the entire time worrying,” Jinki said, slinging Minho’s arm around his shoulder and maneuvering him down the hallway with Jonghyun’s help. “It’s better this way.”

“He’s going to kill you when he wakes up,” Jonghyun said. “I refuse to take any responsibility for this.”

“He can’t kill me. I’m older than him.”

“Yeah, that’s going to stop him,” Jonghyun scoffed. “What if we get a call while he’s out?”

Kibum, who had been following them at a cautious distance, shook his head. “Shindong’s good but not that good. It’ll probably take Siwon a few hours to even contact him. He’s hard to locate. If trackers are easy to find, they’re probably not worth the effort.”

Between the two of them they managed to ease Minho into his bed. Jonghyun gave Minho’s sleeping form a long look and then looked up at Jinki.

“I’m not undressing him. I’ve done that once, and I think he’d not appreciate it if I did it again.”

Kibum snorted, meandering back into the living room. Jonghyun followed, leaving Jinki alone. He heard Jinki’s loud sigh, but dropped onto a chair and flicked on the television.

As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he was worried about Taemin. The kid was capable of taking care of himself, but it didn’t mean that Jonghyun wanted him to have to.

Something seemed wrong without Taemin there. It was as though some important part of their lives was missing. Even if Kibum hadn’t been sitting with his knees drawn up to his chin, staring through the wall, it would have seemed wrong.

When Jinki emerged from Minho’s bedroom, shutting the door behind him, he headed straight for the couch and sat at Kibum’s side, taking him into his arms. Kibum hardly blinked, dropping his head to rest against Jinki’s chest. Jonghyun looked away. It hurt that Minho couldn’t do that. Jonghyun offered what he could, but he wasn’t the person Minho wanted. He couldn’t grant the comfort Minho needed.

Jonghyun hated the silence and the waiting. He wasn’t the type to sit and wait for something to happen. He hated the uncertainty. He needed to be moving, at least doing _something_ until there was something useful. Unfortunately, Jinki and Minho had generally been content to sit and wait. Kibum had that frightening realism that came with the life he and Taemin had led. It left Jonghyun antsy and anxious.

He found reruns of some drama he’d seen fourteen thousand times and dropped the remote to the floor. Kibum flinched at the sound. Jonghyun shrugged apologetically, turning his attention back to the television.

After half an hour of agony, Jonghyun stood up, yanking his jacket off the back of the chair. “I’m going out.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Jinki asked.

“I can’t sit here anymore.”

“Let him go,” Kibum said, leaning forward to dig something out of his pocket. “We’ll call you if anything happens. Don’t go too far. Pick me up some smokes.”

“Kibum,” Jinki said, his voice warning.

Kibum ignored him, tossing a wad of money Jonghyun’s way. Jonghyun caught it and pocked the money. “Any kind?”

“Cigarettes. None of that menthol or light shit. They stopped making the kind I used to smoke, so whatever.”

Jinki caught him at the door, blocking his way out. Jonghyun tried a few times to bypass him, but his friend remained stolid, his arms crossed over his chest until Jonghyun stopped.

“I’m not going to do anything dumb,” Jonghyun said, hoping to preemptively cut the conversation short.

“I know you’re not,” Jinki said. “But what do you think is going to happen if Minho wakes up and both you and Taemin are gone? He’s going to have a heart attack.”

“His heart is fine,” Jonghyun grumbled. “I just need a little while. Besides, you’re not my mother.”

“No, but I probably know you better than she does. Is this about, you know, what happened before?”

“Are you never going to let me live that down?” Jonghyun snapped, loud enough that he knew Kibum heard him in the other room. He tried to moderate his voice. “Do you _honestly_ think that just because I’m in love with--” he grimaced, “ _was_ in love with my best friend that I would want something to happen to the only person to make him this happy in his entire life?”

Jinki flinched at the accusation. Jonghyun felt briefly bad for hurting him, but he just wanted to get out of the house for a few minutes. He also didn’t appreciate Jinki insinuating that he would ever, under any circumstances, want anything bad to happen to Taemin.

“Five years is a long time,” Jinki murmured.

“You know how I am with forbidden fruit. All I want is a taste.”

“I’m sorry,” Jinki offered unhelpfully. He always knew when Jonghyun was lying through his teeth. “Try to be back before he wakes up? It would help if you were here.”

Jonghyun bit back a sarcastic response, heading for the door as soon as Jinki moved aside.


	4. Interlude One

Kibum was half asleep when Jinki came back, leaning against his warmth as soon as he felt him return. Jinki stroked his hair gently.

“You awake?”

Kibum nodded, his eyes still closed. When he felt Jinki sigh, he opened his eyes, stretching out on the couch and looking up at his boyfriend.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m worried about you,” Jinki said. “That thing with you and Minho… that was so unlike either of you.”

Kibum sat up and pulled Jinki into him for a kiss. He smiled when he felt Jinki’s breath catch. Five years and he still reacted the same way he had the first time Kibum kissed him, when they’d been sitting on the couch in his apartment and he’d been so awkwardly trying to let Kibum know how he felt.

“I’m sorry,” Kibum whispered, his lips still brushing across Jinki’s. “I’m worried about him.”

“I know you are, but I know how hard it was for you to get over everything that happened… I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Kibum said. “I can worry about me when we have Taemin back.”

“It’s my job to worry about you,” Jinki said, slipping his arms around Kibum’s waist and pulling him onto his lap. “You won’t worry about yourself.”

He was suddenly overwhelmed with love for his boyfriend and let him know it by throwing his arms around Jinki’s neck and kissing him deeply. He traced Jinki’s lips with his thumb when they broke apart, foreheads pressed together.

“I’ll be fine. Even if it takes a couple of months, we’ll get him back, and I have you in the meantime, right?”

Jinki didn’t say anything and Kibum sighed, pulling a little further away.

“You’re right,” Kibum said, once he realized Jinki wasn’t going to speak. “I may need to go some bad places, but I’m going to be okay. I need to do this for him.”

“I understand.”

“But you don’t like it.”

Jinki shrugged. “I don’t have to like it to understand it. Getting Taemin back home safe is your first priority; it doesn’t mean that keeping you safe can’t be mine.”

“Is this about Siwon? Are you worried he might try to take me back?” Jinki wouldn’t meet his eyes. Kibum kissed his cheek. “Let me explain something to you. First, I love you, you idiot. I don’t love him. Second, there are certain realities you have to accept as a prostitute, and this is one of them. There are stories of us whores--” he felt Jinki give him a sharp look and corrected himself, “prostitutes, people like I was, whatever, whose clients do fall in love with them and take them. Usually it doesn’t work out and you go crawling back hoping to be taken back in, which Makoto… disliked. The punishments they faced were enough to dissuade most of us. It’s probably what he’s been doing to Taemin, calculating the number of times he and Minho have had sex and he hasn’t made a cent off of it. But sometimes it does work, and those ‘sometimes’ are enough to make us hope.

“When Siwon told me he loved me, of course I considered going with him. Maybe I would have, if it hadn’t been for Taemin, but I would have gone with him not because I loved him, but because I would have been safe. He’s not the type to fall in love with anyone he’s fu…” Kibum caught himself, “been with. If he said he loved me, then he did. If he found someone else, he would have at least made sure I was provided for. I’ve had sex with so many people I didn’t love, so many that I _hated_ , that it wouldn’t have mattered if I belonged to him because at least I liked him. At least he never hurt me. But you’re different. I love you and I never loved him. I trusted him with my body, I trust you with everything I am. Do you understand?”

Jinki was staring at him with the kind of expression he generally associated with concern for Kibum’s sanity, which was only somewhat concerning.

“You never told me any of that before.”

“I’ve told you I love you.”

“You know what I mean.”

Kibum shrugged self-consciously. “I’m not… good at being expressive about these things. My mother traded me to Makoto for heroin when I was eleven, it’s not exactly the greatest builder of emotional depth.”

“Breadth.”

“Whatever. You don’t have anything to worry about. Siwon will keep his hands off if I belong to somebody else.”

“I don’t mean to be jealous,” Jinki said. “I really don’t. There’s so much you won’t say, and I know you’re just trying to protect me but…”

Kibum felt a wave of remorse wash over him. It was true. He hardly told Jinki any of what had happened while he’d been one of Makoto’s prostitutes. He hadn’t told Taemin most of it, preferring to keep the worst of it locked away. If he spoke it, it was real. If he didn’t, he could pretend it never happened.

Jinki brushed Kibum’s bangs out of his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you remember any of it.”

“No, you’re right,” Kibum said, feeling his stomach twist. “It’s not… I should have told you more.”

“Later,” Jinki said. “You can tell me later, when this is all over.”


	5. Chapter Four

Taemin woke to Jiyong shaking him. He blinked, still confused when someone other than Minho woke him.

“You’ve got another appointment in an hour. How do you feel?”

Taemin shook his head, moving to a sitting position. Jiyong’s hands echoed his movements, ready to catch him if he fell.

“It’s been a long time since… this.” He didn’t specify what ‘this’ was, but Jiyong understood. It was the sharp rise and fall of drugs in his system, the anger at himself, and the hatred at Makoto for what he was doing, the knowledge that he could not stop himself, no matter how much he wanted to, and that part of him didn’t want to stop, even if he could.

“I know. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I… I don’t want any today.”

He saw Jiyong look over his shoulder, probably at a prepared needle. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. This was how it started. Taemin felt himself getting too close to addiction and thought if, maybe, he just didn’t have any today, he wouldn’t be an addict. The cravings would get worse, like they always did, and he would be begging later, promising that he would go without tomorrow, or the day after that.

“You should probably get ready,” Jiyong said at last, a gentle hand on Taemin’s shoulder bearing him to his feet. “Someone will be here to get you and bring you back. We’ll be here.”

Taemin walked to the bathroom, conscious of Seunghyun’s eyes on him. The other man didn’t speak much, but his eyes often said more than enough. It left Taemin feeling unsettled, although he thought he might be able to blame that on the roiling of his stomach. He’d never enjoyed this, the times when the drug wasn’t in his system, but he didn’t remember hating it this much.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and sighed. His skin was unnaturally pale and he had dark bags under his eyes. Three days of this and he already looked defeated. He touched the skin with his fingertips, and then let his hand fall to the edge of the sink. Taemin closed his eyes, willing the image of Minho’s face to fade from his mind. Minho would never take him back after this, if he even managed to get out again.

He was so stupid. He didn’t know why he ever left the house. All he had to do was call Minho or Kibum and say he needed someone. Even Jonghyun would have come if he’d asked, but he hadn’t. He’d been so sure it would pass that he didn’t even realize what kind of trouble he was getting himself into.

Not that it mattered now. He would end up stuck here like the rest of Makoto’s used-up whores, his favorites that he kept because of how thoroughly he owned them. They were his pets to parade around when the new upstarts came in, thinking they were worth enough to start making demands. He’d seen it happen, although he’d never been one of the ones kneeling on the floor like a piece of furniture.

He didn’t think he’d been in there for an hour trying not to picture the next step when Jiyong’s voice called out his name. Taemin took a deep breath, straightening his back. He had been one of Makoto’s most expensive whores. No, he had been Makoto’s _most_ expensive whore. He knew how to do this. He knew how to detach from himself, to stop thinking for an hour, and then how to forget it all afterwards.

There were two men waiting at the door when he stepped out. They were Seunghyun’s type: tall, strong, and completely ground down beneath Makoto’s heel. One of them grabbed his upper arm as he stepped into the hallway. Taemin glared at him, quelling the fear and nausea beneath the air of superiority he’d crafted years ago.

“Are _you_ paying?” Taemin demanded, brushing the man’s hand away when he went to take hold of him again. “You only get to touch me if you pay.” He waited a moment. “Well?”

The men looked at each other, silent, but one of them stepped ahead, leading him down the hallway. The other one followed a few paces behind Taemin, as though he would break and run. He kept himself tall, chin raised, even if all he wanted was to wake up in Minho’s arms and have this all be some kind of horrific nightmare.

They stopped in front of a door, just barely cracked open. Taemin raised his hand to knock, but one of the men stopped him.

“We’ll be out here, in case you get any ideas.”

Taemin gave him a disdainful look, he’d expected nothing less from Makoto, and knocked discretely on the door. Five years of peace didn’t mean he’d forgotten his life before that. He waited two breaths and then slipped in, closing the door behind him.

He was far more subdued when he emerged afterward. He would have bruises on his hips and arms by the end of the day. His scalp hurt where his hair had been yanked hard enough that more than a few strands of it ended up in the man’s hands. He was cold and shivering, even though the building was more than warm enough.

The two men led him back to his room. They shoved him through the door and slammed it behind him. Taemin landed hard on his knees, the shock jarring his already aching body. He stayed where he was until he felt a gentle arm around his waist, helping him to his feet and then the bed.

Jiyong was wiping away tears Taemin hadn’t realized he was shedding, letting Taemin tuck his head against the older man’s neck.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’ll stop hurting soon.”

“Minho,” Taemin said, trying to correct him as to why he was crying. “I want Minho.”

“Tell me about him,” Jiyong said. “Who is he?”

“He saved me once. He helped me. I want to go back to him.”

“You can. You have seven more appointments and then you can go home.”

They both knew it was a lie. Makoto wasn’t going to let Taemin go, if Taemin was even capable of not using for seven more days. Everything about this place made Taemin itch, made his body fight him for the heroin that was just within his reach. He could have it whenever he wanted. He could spend his time in a blissed haze. He wouldn’t have Minho.

“He’s never going to take me back again.” Taemin pulled away, out of Jiyong’s arms, leaning up against the headboard of the bed.

“You don’t know that.”

“ _I_ wouldn’t take me,” Taemin protested.

Jiyong made a face, tilting his head a little. “No, but we would never take ourselves, would we? We know all of our faults. Those of us with the darkest pasts, we need someone to remind us that we’re not the only things we can see about ourselves.”

“Why do you stay?” Taemin asked. He couldn’t see any of the signs he usually associated with addicts on Jiyong. His skin appeared free of marks, his eyes were clear, he didn’t look like he _needed_ in the same way the rest of them did.

Jiyong nodded toward Seunghyun. The older man was sitting with his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Him. We could leave, probably. We’ve both paid off our debts and more, but he doesn’t want to go, or he doesn’t care enough to go.”

“Make him.”

Jiyong laughed. The sound was only a little bitter. “Have you seen him? All he has to do is make up his mind and no amount of my pushing, pulling, or pleading is going to get him to move. No, we’re here until something changes.”

“What happened to him?”

“His family got into some trouble. I think his father is probably still in jail, somewhere down south. He doesn’t talk about it and I don’t ask, but it left him as the only son and he did what he had to do to get his mother into the countryside. His sister… didn’t make it.” At Taemin’s curious look, he added, “She wasn’t a prostitute. He never would have allowed that. She died in front of him.”

Taemin closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he had siblings, couldn’t have cared less about the people who spawned him. But the thought of losing Kibum or Minho that way was horrifying.

“He loved her,” Jiyong said. “Idolized her. It broke him when she died. There’s nothing I can do for him until he decides okay that she’s gone.”

“Are you…”

“Together?” Jiyong guessed. He shook his head. “I can’t… The _idea_ of a relationship with anyone--I don’t like it. I don’t like someone controlling me. Even if I did, no, I’m straight. We both are, but if you want to survive here, you need someone.”

“Relationships aren’t all like that,” Taemin offered hesitantly.

Jiyong smiled at him. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when food’s here.”

Taemin didn’t want to sleep. He wanted, needed, craved the heroin that was waiting for him. Jiyong must have seen it because he pointedly tugged the blankets back, dislodging Taemin from his spot.

“ _Sleep_. Think of your Minho and sleep.”

He curled up on the bed, his arms held tight to his body. Jiyong’s weight disappeared from the bed and Taemin saw him sitting at Seunghyun’s side, their shoulders resting together. They were speaking in low voices, but Taemin had made an art of falling asleep almost on command. It had been the only way of dealing with the cravings and the sex. It still was, apparently, the only way of dealing with the cravings.

\---

Taemin woke to Jiyong’s hand and the smell of food. He rolled away. “No.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” Taemin repeated.

It wasn’t true. He was starving, but he didn’t want to eat. He wanted to sleep. He’d been dreaming of Minho. His boyfriend had been sitting in a chair, his entire body hunched over as though he hurt. Taemin had called his name, again and again, until Minho’s head lifted, but there was nothing, no recognition. Then Jiyong had woken him and all Taemin wanted to do was go back to sleep and make Minho look at him again.

“Are you sure?”

Taemin just pulled the blankets over his head and ignored him. He heard Jiyong sigh and then felt him retreat. He _missed_ Minho. This wasn’t even the longest they’d been apart, but it had never seemed so permanent before. It had always been Minho filming on location or Taemin traveling with some of the kids to a competition.

He closed his eyes and forced himself back to sleep. It wasn’t as easy as it had been. The craving was back, sharp and burning, but he made it through that night without heroin. It had faded by the time Jiyong woke him in the morning, shaking him awake, a frantic look in his eyes.

“Taemin, you need to get up. Makoto will be here in a few minutes. Get up and get dressed, please. Hurry.”

Taemin didn’t waste time asking why. He changed as quickly as he could, but he was only just yanking one of Seunghyun’s shirts over his head when the door slammed open and Makoto walked in.

He was furious and Taemin wasn’t entirely certain what he’d done to cause it. Makoto strode up to him and before Taemin had time to even begin reacting, his head snapped back, pain flaring in his mouth. When his eyes cleared, Makoto was rubbing a smear of blood from his knuckles.

There was a soft, strangled sound off to one side. Seunghyun had an arm around Jiyong’s waist, holding him back. Taemin shook his head, trying to tell him it was okay and to stay back. Jiyong would only get himself into trouble by drawing Makoto’s attention to him.

Taemin stood silent, the heel of one hand pressed gingerly to his lip, stemming the flow of blood. The sting of one of Makoto’s punches was very little to him. He’d had far worse, but Makoto very rarely stopped at one punch. More would come.

Makoto shoved a photograph against Taemin’s chest. Taemin fumbled with it a few times before he could lift it to his eyes. When he did, his heart stopped. Jinki, Jonghyun, Kibum, and Minho walking into a warehouse. It didn’t look like a place he knew, but the expression on Kibum’s face was more than familiar enough.

“What is Key doing visiting an arms dealer?”

“How should I know?”

Makoto punched him again, sharp and to the jaw this time. Taemin bit back a curse, feeling pain burn hot along his jaw.

“You’re mine, Taeminnie. And as long as you owe me, you’ll stay mine.”

“I’m not yours,” Taemin spat. If he’d been thinking, which he obviously wasn’t, he would have stayed quiet, but his lip was bleeding and his jaw was throbbing. He wasn’t a fifteen-year-old boy, scared of this man who controlled everything about his life. He thought, in retrospect, maybe it would have been better if he had been scared when he felt Makoto’s fingers wrap around his throat, squeezing viciously, and then shove him backwards.

Taemin stumbled, falling hard. The side of his head caught the corner of the bed and he had to fight to keep conscious, between the sharp impact and the sudden rush of air back into his body. He heard another sound from Jiyong, but he couldn’t understand what he was saying. All he heard was the roaring in his ears and Makoto’s voice.

“Get up, Taemin. _Get up_!”

He flinched, but drew his legs beneath him, rising unsteadily to his feet. A splash of red dripped onto his chest, staining Seunghyun’s white shirt. He pressed his fingers to his forehead and they came back painted with blood. The sensation made him nauseous.

Makoto’s hand caught his throat again, his other hand gripping Taemin’s shirt, holding him in place. Taemin tried not to make a sound, truly he tried, but as Makoto’s fingers tightened, he panicked, a terrified whimper escaping. He needed air. He needed to breathe.

“This is an honor, Taeminnie. I don’t usually teach these lessons myself.”

Taemin had been staring at Makoto’s arm, but at the sound of his voice, he looked up. Makoto was watching him with no expression. Taemin’s hand wrapped around Makoto’s wrist, tugging feebly. Makoto didn’t move, didn’t waver, until Taemin couldn’t fight anymore and his vision darkened, hand slipping from Makoto’s wrist. Then his grip loosened just enough for a thread of air to pass through. Taemin drew in a single ragged, blessed breath before Makoto’s fist found his stomach.

His pained cry was lost in the gust of precious air from his lungs, the thud of his body hitting the ground. Makoto didn’t even grant him enough time to breathe again, kicking the younger man in the side, forcing him onto his back. There he paused, his heel on Taemin’s lower ribs.

Taemin lay very, very still. He’d seen Makoto break ribs this way; he’d heard Makoto had killed men this way. He could feel the blood from the cut on his scalp dripping back into his hair. Makoto was watching him, Taemin could feel it, but he didn’t dare look at him. He stared at the bed which was sporting a red splash of Taemin’s own blood. He heard a soft laugh and Makoto stepped back.

“Up.”

Taemin followed orders, keeping his gaze on the ground. He was shaking, his burning, oxygen-deprived body barely able to keep him on his feet. Makoto’s voice was kind when he spoke, frightening Taemin almost as much as his anger did.

“You understand why I’m doing this, don’t you, Taemin? I’m trying to help you be the best you can.”

He couldn’t say anything. Even if he had wanted to, Makoto’s hand in his hair would have frozen the words in his throat. He was sixteen again, refusing to see the appointments Makoto had made for him. That was the time he’d gotten a broken rib. It had come from one of Makoto’s lackeys, rather than the man himself, but it didn’t ease the fear constricting Taemin’s throat. At this point, Makoto would make him keep his appointments, even with a broken rib. He didn’t think he would survive that.

“Will you let me help you, Taemin?”

He didn’t like the way Makoto kept saying his name, the way a parent spoke to an irrational, rebellious child. That didn’t stop him from nodding as much as he could with fingers gripping his hair. He’d thought he was off free, that Makoto would go, leave him to nurse the cut dripping into his eye.

Makoto flung him toward the wall. Taemin’s back caught a protruding corner and cried out, feeling the back of his head hit, more blood dripping down. If Seunghyun’s shirt hadn’t been ruined before, it was now. Makoto hit him twice more, once in the nose and the second breaking more skin on his lips open. He let Taemin slide down the wall and left, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Seunghyun lifted him as soon as the lock clicked, sitting him on the bed and brushing his hair away from the first cut on his scalp. Jiyong sat on his other side, pressing a towel to Taemin’s nose. Taemin was shaking so badly that Jiyong had to pass the towel to Taemin and then hold his head so Seunghyun could get a good look at the cuts.

“You’ll be okay,” Seunghyun announced, leaning back. “The first one is already stopping and the second one will soon. Is your nose broken?”

Taemin shook his head, holding out his left arm. He’d lost. Jiyong vanished and then reappeared, piercing Taemin’s skin with the needle and catching him as soon as he slumped over, eyes fluttering shut.


	6. Chapter Five

Minho jolted awake, the last vestiges of the horrifying dream fading from his mind as quickly as the light hit his eyes. He hadn’t thought he’d made a noise, but he heard the sound of quick footsteps and then Jonghyun appeared in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Jonghyun asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“No. Have we heard anything?”

Jonghyun shook his head, his lips twisting. “Nothing. Silent as the night since you fell asleep. You have Jinki to thank for that by the way.”

“He _drugged_ me?” Jonghyun nodded. “What the hell did he use? Benzodiazepines?”

“Damned if I know,” Jonghyun said. “You slept for almost twenty hours.”

Minho sat the rest of the way up, trying to kick himself free from the blankets.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to…” Minho trailed off, realizing that he actually had no idea where he was going.

“See, _this_ is why Jinki drugged you.”

Minho shot Jonghyun a dark look, but managed to get out of the bed. Jonghyun stood when he did, following him like a wary dog.

“Are you planning on following me into the bathroom?”

“Minho, we haven’t heard anything. I think it’s best if you just relax for a little while.”

“How am I supposed to relax?”

“Minho…”

“Stop saying my name! Fuck, Jonghyun. I’m not a kid.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

If Jonghyun had yelled back or done almost anything but just say it in that painfully quiet voice, Minho might have stood a chance. As it was, Minho’s knees gave out and he sank to the floor, covering his face with his hands. “Jonghyunnie, help me. Please.”

Jonghyun was on his knees beside him, arms wrapped tight around Minho’s shoulders. “It’ll be okay. I promise, everything will be okay.”

“I told him I’d save him. I told him I’d keep him safe and that no one would ever hurt him again.”

“We’re going to get him back.”

“I can’t… I can’t handle the thought of what might be happening to him.”

“I know.”

Minho rested his head on Jonghyun’s shoulder, letting the older man comfort him. His hands fisted in the fabric of Jonghyun’s shirt and he tugged uselessly at it.

“What if he doesn’t want to come back?” Minho asked, finally voicing the question that had plagued him since Heechul told them Taemin had gone in on his own.

“We’ll figure something out.”

He didn’t answer the question, but it was okay. Minho didn’t think he could take the real answer anyway. He was a wreck, knowing what could be happening to Taemin, without knowing where he was, and that he couldn’t help even if he did.

Jonghyun gently untangled Minho’s fingers from his shirt. “Come on. Let’s get you up. I’ll get Kibum to cook you something to eat, all right?”

For the most part, Minho did what Jonghyun told him. He showered mindlessly, wore what Jonghyun put out for him, ate what he put in front of him. He finally settled Minho on the couch with stern orders not to move, and gathered Kibum and Jinki in the kitchen.

Jonghyun took a deep, frustrated breath, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do. He’s never been this bad.”

“He’s going to be okay,” Jinki said. “Kibum said Siwon should be calling--”

“He called me ‘Jonghyunnie.’”

Jinki fell silent, his mouth open in a quiet ‘oh.’ Kibum looked back and forth between them, obviously missing the importance of the statement. He made an impatient noise, gesturing for an explanation.

“As far as I can remember, Minho has only called me that twice,” Jonghyun said. “The first time was when he called me when I was in Paris, to tell me that his mother was in the hospital and he thought she was going to die. The second time was today.”

Jonghyun had almost flashed back to that phone call. He’d been on a cell phone in the middle of Paris, his girlfriend impatiently tugging at his arm. It had been almost three AM Korean time. He hadn’t even been able to understand what Minho said at first, the words spilling so quickly into his ear that he only caught his name repeated several times within the first few seconds.

When he’d finally calmed down, all he’d managed to say coherently was, “I think my mom’s dying. Jonghyunnie, please, I don’t know what to do.”

Jonghyun had booked the first flight home.

“So… that’s bad, then?”

“I think he’ll be okay,” Jonghyun said, glancing toward where Minho would be, if he could see through the wall. “I’m just… really worried about him.”

Kibum’s phone buzzed and he almost dropped it in his haste to answer it, flicking it on speakerphone immediately.

“Siwon?”

“It’s Hyukjae,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Siwon’s busy at the moment, but we’ve heard back from Shindong. We want to set up a meeting with you to discuss some terms before we give you the information.”

“What terms?” Kibum asked. His voice was suspicious.

“Not the kind you’re thinking,” Hyukjae said. “He’s made it clear you’re getting the information. He only wants to ensure that none of us get killed in the aftermath. He’s got a few warnings for you that he wants to deliver in person.”

“Does he think he’s going to look more intimidating than he’ll sound over the phone?” Kibum asked dryly. Hyukjae just rattled off an address and telling them to be there in twenty

minutes. He hung up.

Kibum looked as though he were considering something, and Jonghyun glanced at Jinki. The other man just sent him a bland look in return. He didn’t know what was going through his boyfriend’s head either. Well, that was great. Jonghyun returned to the living room. Minho had, at some point while he was gone, gotten up and started pacing an uneven circle around the room. Jonghyun watched him for a second and then stopped him, pressing his hand to Minho’s shoulder. He jumped, shying away from Jonghyun’s touch.

“Minho?” He waited until Minho looked up at him. “We’re meeting with Siwon in twenty minutes. Are you ready?”

The words seemed to startle Minho back into consciousness. “Did he tell us where Taemin is?”

“No. He wants to meet to do it. You up for it?”

\---

Minho appeared to have returned to his normal self, if a little edgier, on the walk to the cafe. Jonghyun wasn’t certain he believed it, staying close by Minho’s side the entire time. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“There,” Kibum murmured, pointing with his cigarette through a cafe window to a man with shockingly white hair. Jonghyun was a little jealous. He didn’t think he could have pulled that color off. “That’s Hyukjae. The dark-haired one next to him who looks like he’s about ready to stab somebody is Yesung. He probably does have a couple knives on him so please don’t piss him off. I don’t see…”

“Siwon’s inside,” a faintly accented voice said from right next to his ear. Jonghyun almost jumped out of his skin. Even Kibum looked surprised, pressing his free hand to his chest.

“Gah! Henry! I _hate_ when you do that.”

“That’s why Siwon keeps me around,” Henry said, working his way around in front of them. “I’ll take you to him. Those two are just keeping watch.”

Kibum sighed and scuffed out his cigarette, following Henry through the cafe. It probably should have looked suspicious, the way he led them to a private meeting room off to one side, but nobody batted an eye.

“He owns this place, doesn’t he?” Jonghyun asked.

Henry looked over his shoulder at him, eyebrows raised. “This is one of the ones he owns in Heechul’s territory. Heechul will find it eventually, and then we’ll get a new one.”

“One of these days, Siwon is going to cross the line one too many times,” Kibum said.

“Oh, the retribution Heechul has already threatened us with,” Henry said, grinning at them. Jonghyun thought he looked just a little too cheerful about this whole situation.

He knocked twice on the door and then pushed it open, stepping aside. Rather than following them through, he shut the door behind them. Siwon was sitting at the table, a folded piece of paper laying on the table in front of him.

Jonghyun saw Jinki’s hand on Kibum’s arm, possessive enough that it was out of character for the two of them. If Jonghyun noticed, Siwon definitely did, judging by the way his eyes flicked to Jinki’s face and then back to Kibum.

“Take a seat. I’m not going to keep you long.” He waited until they sat and then slid the paper toward Kibum. “Donghae has a friend inside. He’s trying to get word on how Taemin is, but--”

Kibum had been unfolding the paper while Siwon spoke and when he got a look at the address, a picture of the front of the building falling out, he swore.

“This is a fucking fortress,” Kibum hissed. “I’ve never even been there.”

“Exactly,” Siwon said. “Donghae’s made contact. That’s where he is now. It’ll still be a couple of days before we hear back from him. If you can wait that long, I’ll have a better idea of where he is and what state he’s in.”

“Do we have a choice?” Kibum asked.

Siwon spread his hands, indicating the group of them and the sheet of paper. “You have all the information I have. You can do with it as you will, but you’re probably going to get yourselves _and_ Taemin killed if you go charging in now.” He paused. “One other thing. Word is Makoto knows you met with Heechul.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Shindong couldn’t pick that up. But there’s chatter and it means he’s worried. If you go see him again, you need to be careful. This,” Siwon pushed another slip of paper toward them, “is a secure number. Yesung delivered the phone earlier today. It wouldn’t stand to anything federal, but Makoto hasn’t got anything that’ll be able to take what Shindong put on it, if he thinks to try.”

Kibum took it hesitantly, fingers curling around the edges of the paper. He glanced back at Jinki. “Siwon…”

“I’m doing this because, unfortunately, as Henry reminded me, I owe you. You saved us, most of us—as many as you could, from Makoto once. I’ll do what I can do help you get Taemin back and then we’re even.”

Kibum turned to face Minho, waiting until their eyes met to speak. “Minho, can you wait? We don’t stand a chance of getting Taemin back, if we go now. Makoto will probably kill all of us, but I’m willing to try.”

Jonghyun could see the indecision on Minho’s face. He wanted to go now. Even Jonghyun wanted to go now, but he shook his head.

“I’ll do whatever I have to to get him back safe.”

Kibum nodded Siwon’s direction. “Thank you.”

“Thank Henry,” Siwon said, standing. “I’ll contact you when I have more information.”

\---

It was another three days before they got word from Siwon. It came in the form of the man himself appearing on Minho’s doorstep, Jinki and Kibum in tow, although how he’d managed to find both of them in the middle of an afternoon on a Tuesday, Minho had no idea.

Jonghyun had yet to leave Minho’s house for more than two hours at a time, but Minho couldn’t bring himself to complain. He knew Jonghyun was only doing it because he was worried, and Minho wasn’t sure he could handle the silence in the house for more than a few hours. When the house was silent he didn’t have anything to do but think, and he hated it. It was always of the young, red-headed Taemin with the empty eyes and too-thin body.

He spent most of his time pacing the living room, moving to the hallway or kitchen whenever Jonghyun complained. He was halfway between the living room and kitchen when he heard a knock at his door. Siwon didn’t wait for an invitation, stepping inside with Kibum and Jinki following.

“What’s wrong?” Minho asked.

Siwon pulled out a flash drive. “You have a computer?”

Minho led the way to the living room and his computer, waiting for Siwon to plug in the drive. He felt faintly nauseous. Nothing about the way this was going could be good. His heart sank further when Siwon turned specifically to him.

“I came as soon as I got these. I’m sorry. I would have found some way to move faster, if I’d known.”

“Is he okay?”

“We weren’t able to speak with him,” Siwon said, turning back to the computer and clicking through the last few files to open the pictures. “Sit down.”

Minho looked over his shoulder. Jonghyun took a step closer. Jinki and Kibum’s fingers were interlaced, hard enough that their knuckles were turning white. He sat, the other three crowding around him. Siwon opened the first of the pictures and then stepped back.

Jonghyun swore behind him. Minho just wanted to cry.

The first picture was of Taemin’s profile, his hair dyed, almost the color it had been when Minho had first seen him. He was looking away from the camera at something just behind him, but he seemed smaller than Minho remembered him being, an arm wrapped around his stomach.

Minho swallowed and hit the arrow for the second picture. Kibum sobbed when he saw it, falling hard onto the couch and pressing his hands to his face. Jinki sat at his side, folding him into his arms.

Taemin’s eyes were focused somewhere to the side, but he was facing the camera. He had several dark bruises along his jaw and one cheek. His lower lip was half healed, but Minho could see where it had been split. There was a bandage just along his hairline. It was too short to cover the entire cut and they could see it running into his hair.

Jonghyun knelt down beside him, resting his hand on Minho’s knee and drawing his attention down. “He’s alive. That’s all that matters right now.”

Minho didn’t say anything, reaching to press the arrow for the next picture. “How many are there?”

“Five,” Siwon answered. He’d moved away from the group, granting them a little privacy.

Minho hit the button and his stomach dropped.

His beautiful, wonderful Taemin was sitting against a wall, head tipped back, his arms resting on his knees, one turned up. A man was kneeling in front of him, a needle sliding beneath Taemin’s skin. The picture must have been taken right as the drug hit his system, because Taemin’s mouth was opened just a little, his right hand half clenched.

The room was silent. Minho couldn’t stand to look at the picture any longer. He flicked to the next one. Taemin was kneeling in the middle of a room, his head bowed. The man Minho had seen in the previous picture was next to him. There were other people there too, men and women, all kneeling.

“Makoto does this sometimes,” Kibum said, his voice hoarse, “when he wants to impress someone. The dealers in the area have to go through him. A lot of politicians use Makoto’s… services. I got the chief of police, one time. They’re afraid of what might come out if he’s arrested, so they let him go. They pick up his whores and some of his lower-level dealers, the ones he doesn’t care about, every so often, but they make sure no one ever builds a case. If Makoto likes you, or you pay him enough, you get the same consideration.”

“It’s another reason you don’t piss him off,” Siwon said. “Just so you’re reminded what I’m risking here.”

“Yeah, I know. He must have really wanted this person for him to have put Taemin out there like that.”

“Why?” Jinki asked, forehead furrowed.

Kibum leaned forward to point at several people on the screen. “These are all of Makoto’s old favorites. For one reason or another, they must have lost his favor, but people recognize them still. For people he cares less about, he’ll have one or two, the prettiest ones. With Taemin, he was probably sending a message, staking a claim of some sort.”

“There’s one more picture,” Siwon reminded them.

Minho was afraid to go to the next. He didn’t think it could be worse than the ones he’d already seen, but he was terrified of what it could be and what he could see that would be worse.    “Do you want me to do it?” Jonghyun asked.

Minho withdrew his hand and nodded, a little ashamed of his own weakness. Jonghyun leaned forward and pressed the button for him.

It must have been taken first. Taemin’s skin was still whole, there were no bruises that Minho could see. But there were two men behind him, clearly blocking his way back, and a door half-open that Taemin was stepping through. He looked too purposefully controlled, a look Minho recognized.

“Kibum, is he…?” Minho asked. He couldn’t look over at him, but he saw the movement of the other man’s head.

“Probably, yes.”

Minho breathed out Taemin’s name, squeezing his eyes shut as though that would make the images go away. Jonghyun was stroking his knee, trying to soothe him. Minho brushed him off, standing and moving toward the corner. He couldn’t stand to be touched just then.

“Siwon, what’s your place in this?” Kibum asked.

Siwon bent to retrieve the flash drive, sliding it into his pocket. “If your plans don’t get my people killed, I’m letting you call the shots. I’m not stupid enough to think that I know Makoto or Taemin better than you do.”

“I need to make a couple calls,” Kibum said. “Can you be ready to move as soon as I call you?”

“Who do you think I am? We’ll be wherever you want us within half an hour.”

Kibum caught his wrist as he headed toward the door. “Thank you.”

Siwon nodded toward Kibum and vanished through the door. Kibum was already dialing, digging his crushed pack of cigarettes out of his pocket with his other hand. “Heechul? I need a favor.”


	7. Chapter Six

Taemin had already lost track of what day it was. He spent most of his time in the faint haze that accompanied heroin, sober only when Makoto required it for appointments. It was surprising how rare that was. It seemed he got money almost regardless of any form of participation. He couldn’t remember most of what happened, which was fine with him. He did remember several people hauling him off to a room with a large, foul-smelling sink and dying his hair a horrible blond-red-brown color, Makoto’s personal brand.

Jiyong and Seunghyun had started feeding him. He was rarely sober enough to do it himself, and even then, he had no desire to eat. It also meant that he was rarely strong enough to fight them off when one of them held him down and the other forced food into his mouth. They didn’t seem to care if it made him sick, or how much he managed to keep down, as long as he ate something.

The days that Makoto insisted he stay sober were torturous. He was using more often than he ever had, even when he’d been trying to kill himself. He spent those days pacing near the door, almost eager, so Jiyong would give him his next dose. He thought, in those rare moments of sobriety when his body didn’t burn, that he wanted to die. He’d been an addict for so long that he knew how to deal with how much and when, but Taemin found he cared less and less. He would have used whatever Jiyong gave him and then taken more.

If he died, he didn’t have to face… His mind blanked on the name and face sometimes, but he knew there was _someone_ who would have been upset by this. He thought sometimes it was Key, but it couldn’t have been.

The door opened and he almost jumped through it. He needed more of the drug. His skin was already itching and burning. The two men, always the same two men, whether it was midday or midnight, led him down the hallway to the designated room. He knocked twice on the door, paused, and then stepped through.

The man inside was about the same height as Taemin, with slightly mussed hair as though he’d either not bothered to brush it or it was very windy outside. Taemin hadn’t seen natural light since Makoto brought him to this building, however long ago it was. He thought Jiyong said it was almost two weeks. Somehow it felt so much longer.

The man turned when Taemin closed the door, looking him up and down.

“You’re Taemin?”

Taemin nodded. He wasn’t sure why this was a question. He never really thought it mattered who they got at this point, as long as there was sex involved.

The man stepped up to him and took his chin in his hands. Taemin almost pulled away. There was nothing sexual in his touch, in the way he tilted Taemin’s head back and forth as though examining a purchase at the market. He dropped Taemin’s chin and then shoved his sleeves up, inspecting Taemin’s arms.

“What the hell are you doing?” Taemin asked, finally pulling away. He was fine with sex, but wasn’t going to tolerate being manhandled like that, not without being paid anyway.

“My name is Hankyung,” he said, and Taemin realized for the first time that he spoke with an accent. “Kim Heechul sent me to check on you. Do you remember him?”

“Of course I remember him.”

He’d known Heechul almost as long as he’d known Key. He’d been one of the few people that stopped by their first wretched house to make sure they had enough food and that they were okay. When Makoto had moved them, the visits stopped. Taemin assumed he’d forgotten about them.

“He sent a message. He wants you to know that there are people coming for you… and he said not to be an idiot,” Hankyung looked Taemin up and down again, raising his eyebrows. “The message came a little too late, I think.”

Taemin pressed his left arm against his side, trying to brush the sleeve down with his torso. “People are coming for me? What do you mean?”

“What does it sound like? There are a lot of people risking their lives to get you out of here, so whatever stupid things you’re doing, stop.”

Taemin stared at him, uncomprehending. “What?”

Hankyung sighed, sharp and annoyed. He pulled out his phone and frowned at something on the display. “I don’t have time to tell you everything. It’ll be a little while, probably, so… Well, I was going to say ‘keep doing what you’re doing’ but I think that’s bad advice. Just stay alive until we get here.”

He flipped open his phone and dialed a number before Taemin could respond.

“It’s me. I’ve seen him. He looks like shit.” A pause. “Yeah, no, Mimi, don’t tell him that.” Another pause. “Okay. I’ll be back soon. Tell Heechul to stop dragging his fucking feet. You can tell him those were my words.”

“You don’t have time to explain anything to me, but you can make a call? _Who_ is trying to get me out of here? What if I don’t even want to leave?”

Hankyung flicked his phone shut and caught Taemin’s left arm, his fingers digging into the bruises there. Taemin yelped, trying to wrench his arm free, but Hankyung’s grip was too strong.

“If you don’t want to leave, you can tell that to your boyfriend. I just do what I’m told to do.”

“You’re hurting me,” Taemin gasped. “Let go.”

“If you really want to stay here in this…” Hankyung gestured to the room while he searched for an appropriate word, “…place, then tell me that now.”

Taemin was silent, looking down and to the side. He wanted to just give up, like he’d been ready to do five years ago before Minho meddled like some sort of cosmic “fuck you,” but he had spent years happy, with someone who loved _him_. He’d never thought he could be happy, or that someone would be able to love him. One fucking moment of weakness had ruined that.

“Why would he even want me back?” Taemin asked, trying to blink tears out of his eyes.

Hankyung let go of Taemin’s arm, stepping back. “Like I said, I do what I’m told, but I know Heechul wouldn’t send us all scattering for something he didn’t believe in. He’s gearing up for war. Your boyfriend must have done something to convince him you’re worth it.”

His phone rang again and Taemin could hear the tinny echo of an angry voice. He couldn’t understand what the person was saying, but he figured it probably was in another language when Hankyung responded the same way.

Hankyung strode to the door, throwing it open and tossing a, “Fucking idiots can’t do anything on their own. I’ll make another appointment with him later,” to the guards at the door. Taemin followed him out a little more slowly, rubbing at the red marks on his arm where Hankyung had grabbed him.

“Come on,” one of them snapped. “We don’t have all day.”

The other one caught Taemin by the collar of his shirt and shoved him in front of them. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall and scraping the skin on his hand.

“Get fucking moving,” the second one added.

Taemin didn’t say anything. He let them push him down the hallway, barely leaving him time to regain his balance after every shove. They seemed to take supreme, disgusting joy in ensuring he never made it back after an appointment without some kind of bruise or scrape. They’d long since stopped being intimidated by him, and Taemin really couldn’t blame them. They had to carry him most of the time anyway.

His shoulder caught on the door when they threw him in, making him hiss in pain. Jiyong caught him.

“That was quick. Is everything okay?”

“He got a call,” Taemin said after a brief hesitation. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t trust Jiyong or Seunghyun, but that he didn’t trust whoever could overhear.

Jiyong reached back for the needle, but Taemin shook his head.

“No. I want… Just, I don’t want any.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Taemin asked.

“You haven’t been without in almost three days,” Seunghyun interrupted, his voice surprising Taemin into silence. He hadn’t heard Seunghyun speak since Makoto had beaten him. He sometimes forgot the other man was there. He didn’t seem to serve any purpose, which was unusual among Makoto’s property. Even Jiyong occasionally disappeared to do some unnamed task.

Taemin lasted all of three hours before he caught Jiyong’s sleeve as he walked by. As far as quitting heroin went, it was a relatively poor first attempt. It set the precedent for all of his other tries.

It didn’t help that Makoto seemed to sense something of a rebellion in Taemin’s character, which Taemin was certain was impossible, as he hadn’t seen him since he and Jiyong had spent the day kneeling for Makoto’s meetings. They hadn’t spoken since Taemin was beaten.

Makoto’s response to rebellion, actual or imagined, was to immediately grind it into the earth, which was what he seemed to set out to do. The day after Hankyung’s ‘appointment,’ Taemin was suddenly dragged from one man to another. By the final one, Taemin could barely keep standing. One of his guards had to carry him, rather than hauling him around by the arm, as he usually did when Taemin couldn’t walk on his own.

Jiyong looked ready to cry when he saw Taemin and the bruises that covered his skin. Even Seunghyun, uncharacteristically, looked concerned.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Jiyong asked, running a cool cloth over Taemin’s face. “I’ve never seen Makoto so angry with anyone in my life.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Taemin protested. “I’ve been a good little whore. I go where he tells me, I fuck who he tells me.”

“Yeah, that’s why you sound like you have sandpaper in your throat,” Jiyong said. “Try to get some sleep, okay? Do you want--”

“Now.”

Jiyong took a few minutes to prepare the needle and then knelt at Taemin’s side. He put a gentle hand on Taemin’s cheek. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you through this.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I think you do. There are ways for people to die, even in places like these. You haven’t found any yet or you haven’t used them.” He pressed something into Taemin’s hands. “Remember why you want to survive.”

Taemin looked down at the object in his hands, the picture Makoto had thrown at him. He’d forgotten about it. Jiyong made sure Taemin’s hand was tight on it before he slid the needle into place in Taemin’s right arm. The veins in Taemin’s left arm were already useless.

“Remember your Minho,” Jiyong said as Taemin let his eyes close.


	8. Interlude Two

Jonghyun had finally managed to convince Minho to sleep after several hours and swearing time and again that he would wake Minho the instant they got word about anything, even if it was only that they had to wait longer. They’d been interrupted three times, twice by Jonghyun’s managers calling to demand he come back and finish recording and once by Minho’s company to remind him gently but insistently that they were behind schedule. Each time the phone rang, Minho had bolted out of bed, waiting to see who had called and Jonghyun had to start all over again.

“Jonghyun?” Jinki asked when he finally stepped out of Minho’s room. “Can I talk to you?”

It was two in the morning and he was beyond exhausted, but he nodded, pausing on his way to his temporary bed on the couch.

“What’s up?”

“Did Taemin say anything to you before he left?” Jinki asked, standing with his arms crossed in the middle of the living room. Kibum was dozing on one of the chairs.

Jonghyun frowned, but thought back. “I hadn’t talked to him in probably three days before he left. Why?”

“I was just wondering. I mean, you said you were still in love with Minho… I thought maybe if you’d said something--”

“ _What_?” Jonghyun demanded. Kibum’s head snapped up, instantly awake.

“It’s a valid question,” Jinki said. “If you’d made him feel like Minho didn’t love him, or if you’d insinuated that you and Minho were--”

“You honestly, actually, _really_ think that I wanted something like this to happen? I told you before. I would never want anything to happen to Taemin, especially something like this. Hurting Taemin means hurting Minho and I would never do that.”

“That didn’t seem to stop you when you first met him.”

“Oh my fucking god, Jinki. That was five years ago and I still feel bad about it! I love Taemin like a brother.”

“But you love Minho more, right?”

“You know what, Jinki? Fuck you. I’m going to sleep.”

“You already fucked Minho, so why not?”

Jonghyun scoffed, opening and closing his mouth a few times in shock. He had no idea what was going through Jinki’s head, but he knew that he was getting dangerously close to punching Jinki in the face. Even Kibum seemed surprised, standing and putting a hand on Jinki’s upper arm, trying to draw him toward Minho’s guest room, where they were staying.

“Love, stop. You’re going to wake Minho.”

“Listen to your boyfriend,” Jonghyun snapped, brushing past them.

“What was the last thing you talked about with Taemin?” Jinki asked.

Jonghyun raked his hand through his hair, reminding himself that if he punched Jinki, Minho probably would wake up and he would have to go through the process of making him sleep all over again. Plus Kibum would get upset. It was not worth it. Yet.

“We talked about what Taemin should get Minho for his birthday.”

“Minho’s birthday is still months away.”

“Apparently it’s a little tough to top a trip to Tahiti. Fuck, Jinki, what the hell is your problem? It’s two in the morning and if you really wanted to have this conversation you should have asked me after a decent night’s sleep. Nobody in this house is getting a _good_ night’s sleep anymore, with Minho waking up every hour to check and see if there’s word.”

Kibum shushed him frantically. “You’re going to wake him up, Jonghyun, _quiet_ , please. Jinki, stop. You can talk about this tomorrow when you’ve slept and thought this through.”

“I have thought this through and it’s the only thing that makes sense--”

Jonghyun was prepared to defend himself, but Kibum spoke over them both, rounding on his boyfriend.

“No, you haven’t. You’re exhausted, you’re upset, and you’re worried about me. I had _one_ nightmare, Jinki. One. This isn’t Jonghyun’s fault, any more than it is yours or mine or Minho’s. Taemin knew what he was doing. Jonghyun is just as tired as we are, maybe more because you know he’s spending half of his time caring for Minho, because he’s so damn lost he can’t do it himself.”

“It works out best for him if--”

“Lee Jinki, I have had enough of this. If Jonghyun had wanted Minho, he would have made a move years ago. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you’re going to feel really fucking dumb about this, and then you’re going to apologize because you’ve just accused him of driving Taemin out. Are we clear?” When Jinki did not immediately answer, he added, “If Taemin dies, do you want Jonghyun to take the blame for that?”

Jinki had fallen silent beneath his boyfriend’s onslaught. Even Jonghyun quieted, watching Kibum give, in a whisper, the most scathing lecture he had ever heard. Jinki directed an angry look his way, but retreated into their bedroom silently. Kibum caught Jonghyun’s arm as he went toward the couch.

“He’s really just worried about me, Jjong. Forgive him, please?”

Jonghyun smiled a little tersely. “We’re all on edge right now, Kibum. It’ll be better after daylight.”

Kibum looked as though that wasn’t quite what he wanted, but he let Jonghyun go without asking for anything more. Jonghyun was glad. He didn’t think he had the energy to give anything else. Kibum turned and followed Jinki into the bedroom where Jonghyun could hear the furious whispers start up again behind the closed door.

He collapsed onto the couch, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He didn’t remember acting any different around Taemin; he’d never once mentioned that he still had feelings for Minho, but what if it had been his fault? What if he had let it slip and Taemin had decided… Decided what? Jonghyun didn’t know, but if Taemin died and it was his fault, Minho would never forgive him and he couldn’t ever forgive himself.


	9. Chapter Seven

Heechul was in Gwangju and unable to come back to Seoul until the next day, but he made arrangements for Ryeowook to pick them up at Minho’s the next night. They would meet, Minho was mildly amused to hear, in the strip club Heechul owned southside.

“It’s like a game to them,” Kibum said from the front seat of Ryeowook’s car. He flicked the ash from his cigarette out the window. “I think Siwon is determined to buy out all of the food establishments in Heechul’s territory and Heechul tries to own every bar and strip club southside. Heechul finds out, arranges for whatever it is to get shut down and Siwon moves on. Siwon finds out, arranges a takeover in management, and Heechul opens another one. Neither one of them would know what to do without the other.”

Ryeowook laughed softly, but didn’t otherwise comment, turning into an underground parking lot. “Second floor. Kyuhyun will meet you there and bring you back to Heechul. Don’t bring any weapons and you’ll be fine.”

“Kyuhyun would stab me in the neck before I got close,” Kibum grumbled as he got out of the car. “He’s like a fucking terrier.”

“Don’t let him hear you call him that,” Ryeowook advised.

Minho was still surprised to hear this drawl when Kibum spoke. It was a little startling, a reminder that no matter what Kibum acted like, there was another layer to him that most of them knew nothing about. He knew Jinki didn’t like it, but the sharp edges vanished as soon as they were safe inside Minho’s house.

Kibum led the way up the stairs, pulling Jinki behind him with one hand. Jonghyun had been strangely reserved all day, refusing to stray more than a few feet away from Minho’s side. Kibum likewise hadn’t let Jinki out of his sight. Minho didn’t know what had happened, but Jonghyun assured him he was imagining things and then proceeded to flinch when Jinki and Kibum stepped into the living room, Kibum still smelling like cigarette smoke.

The man Minho assumed was Kyuhyun was crouching at the top of the stairs, tapping his fingers on his knee. He stood when the door opened, eyes sweeping over them, straightening his suit as he did so.

“Do I need to search you?”

“I’m not stupid,” Kibum said.

Kyuhyun grinned at them, brushing a lock of shaggy hair out of his eyes. “If it were anybody but you. All right. He’s through here. You have twenty minutes.”

It took Minho’s eyes a second to adjust to the darkness inside the room. Heechul was standing in front of a window overlooking the club, his back to the door. He didn’t turn around.

“You said it was urgent?” Heechul asked.

“We need your help,” Kibum said.

“You said that too.”

“Would you stop staring at your strippers and _look_ at me?” Kibum demanded. “Heechul, Taemin’s bad. He’s using again.”

Heechul finally turned, walking to a couch and sitting, resting his elbows on his knees. “Kibum, you know why I was in Gwangju? I was sending the spouses and children of _my_ people out of the country so when _you_ start a war, they’re not caught in the crossfire. Makoto knows we spoke. He probably knows you’re here now.”

“If we do this the right way, we won’t start a war. We’ll get Taemin and go. That’s all I want.”

“Please,” Minho said, stepping forward for the first time.

Heechul looked him over from where he was sitting on the couch. Minho knew what he looked like. Jonghyun reminded him of it every chance he got in an attempt to remind him to eat or sleep. He couldn’t do either. He couldn’t do much but pace through his living room during the day and in his bedroom when Jonghyun was sleeping on the couch.

Kibum reached to pull Minho back but Heechul shook his head. Kibum’s hand fell back to his side.

“I like the kid, I do. I might even like you, for all you look like you could blow over in the wind right now. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Then help me,” Minho said. “Help Taemin.”

Heechul made a disgusted sound, standing and walking back to the window. “You have a plan, then?”

Minho looked over his shoulder at Kibum. Kibum gave him a tight smile, the barest tendrils of hope slipping through.

“I do,” Kibum said.

“And if people die?”

“Hopefully they’ll be Makoto’s.”

“I would love dearly to pay him back for what he did to my people,” Heechul said slowly. He turned around. “I get veto power.”

“We’ll talk about it.”

“I make sure he’s alive before we do anything.”

Kibum frowned. “He’s alive.”

“Do you know that or do you want to believe that?” Heechul didn’t wait for an answer, moving to the side of the room and opening a door.

“You’re paying for the appointment,” a voice said from inside the room. Minho couldn’t see inside with Heechul’s body blocking their view. “You don’t pay me enough for this.”

ldquo;You knew you’d make more with Siwon,” Heechul said, but he didn’t sound annoyed.

“You’re a bastard,” the man said, emerging from the room and slinging a dark jacket over his shoulders.

“What? Do you need a hug?”

The man made a sharp comment in Chinese, which, as far as Minho was aware, nobody in the room understood except for him. “It’ll take me a few days to get an appointment set up. I’ll be back after that.”

“Hankyung,” Heechul called before the man disappeared through the door. “Be careful.”

Hankyung threw a grin over his shoulder. “Don’t worry about me.”

“All I do is worry about him,” Heechul grumbled when the door shut. “He can hardly speak Korean.” Minho didn’t think his Korean was quite as bad as Heechul seemed to insinuate. “Anyway, when Hankyung gets back to me about Taemin’s condition, we’ll talk again.”

It was all they were able to get out of him and not too long later, Kyuhyun reappeared in the room, informing them their twenty minutes were up. They were courteously but firmly escorted down to the car and Ryeowook drove them back home. It wasn’t what Minho had wanted, but it was more than they’d had before.

“How are you planning on getting the two of them together?” Jonghyun asked Kibum once they were back in the house.

“The two of who?” Kibum asked, lifting his head from his contemplation of the knots in the wooden table. He was flicking an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Siwon and Heechul. Are they really going to agree to work together?”

Kibum shrugged, leaning his head against Jinki’s shoulder. Jinki rested his cheek against the top of Kibum’s head. It made Minho faintly sick and more than a little lonely, but he was not going to begrudge them what comfort they could get from one another.

“I have my ways.”

“Are you sure you’re not planning on seducing them?” Jinki asked. He was smiling down at Kibum.

“The only person I ever plan to seduce is you,” Kibum said, patting his knee fondly. “But no, Siwon likes me enough that as long as he’s sure his people are safe, he’ll do it. And Heechul was always irrationally fond of Taemin. If Taemin hadn’t started using, he probably would have taken him in, just as a way to keep him from becoming one of Makoto’s… Well, what he is now, I suppose. He doesn’t let any of his people use. It makes them too dependent on other people, instead of themselves.”

“Any other associates of yours we could call?” Minho asked.

“Most of the people I knew then are dead, or they ought to be and they wouldn’t be of any use to us now even if they are still alive. Heechul and Siwon both have grudges against Makoto. They worked together once, you know, before Makoto thought they were getting a little too powerful and made up some shit about how they were working against him. This was three or four years before we met you.”

“What happened?” Jonghyun asked, leaning forward to look around Minho on the couch.

“Closest thing we’ve had to a gang war since Makoto came into the picture. The smaller gangs, the ones that have a few streets, they fight all the time, but nobody really cares. A couple kids get killed, it’s ‘a tragedy’ for a few days on the news, and then we all forget about it. This time… A lot of people died. A lot of people who weren’t even involved died. Makoto agreed to stop the war as long as Heechul and Siwon split, which they did.

“Heechul’s never forgiven Siwon for giving in as quickly as he did. Siwon can’t forgive Heechul for some of the casualties. They both lost some good friends. It’s a sore point for both of them, because after Makoto arranged for half of their people to ship out to Busan, without bothering to ensure they had anything down there, not even housing or work, he made the rest of them choose if they wanted Heechul or Siwon. If Makoto was trying to ensure they never worked together again, he couldn’t have done a better job without killing one of them.”

“You talk about this very casually,” Jinki said.

Kibum shrugged again. “It’s, what, almost ten years ago now? I’m not a soft person, Jinki, you know that.”

“I know,” Jinki said, and he sounded miserable.

Kibum sighed, turning slightly so he could put his arms completely around his boyfriend. “Stop _worrying_. I’m fine, Taemin will be fine.”

“I can’t help it.”

Kibum kissed his cheek. “Do you guys mind if I take my oaf of a boyfriend out for dinner? It’ll be a little while before we hear anything new…”

“Go ahead,” Minho said. “If you don’t leave soon, Jonghyun is going to have all of us watching one of those documentaries about guitar makers or something. It might as well just be me suffering through it.”

“I’m not going if you’re going to smoke.”

Kibum tugged the pack out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. “There. No smoking. Can we go now?”

Jinki let himself be pulled to his feet and pushed out the door. When Minho heard the door close, he finally turned back to Jonghyun, who he’d felt staring at him.

“What?”

“Are you _sure_ everything is--”

“Jonghyun.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Got it.” He remained silent for a whole four seconds. “But, you know, if--”

“We’ve got somewhere to start,” Minho said. “We know he’s alive, we know that once we hear back from Heechul we can start doing things. I just want Taemin back. I can’t focus on everything that’s happening to him or could be happening to him or I’m going to… Once he’s back home, safe, once he’s in my arms again, I can deal then. Are we done?”

“We’re done.”

Jonghyun at least stopped asking if Minho was okay every five minutes, but he did spend the next three hours providing mindless chatter about the relative merits of one guitar versus another and Minho tuned him out.

In the middle of some extremely convoluted section about pearl inlays, he felt Jonghyun punch him and jumped, blinking at him in confusion, one hand coming up to cover his shoulder. “What are you--”

“Would you stop trying to be all noble about this?” Jonghyun asked. “I’ve pretty much given you everything I know about guitars at least twice and you haven’t told me to shut up once. I know I’m not… I’m not Taemin, I can’t do what he can, but can you at least let me help?”

Minho’s first reaction was to tell Jonghyun, in no uncertain terms, that he did not need help. But he did. When he let himself think or, even worse, _feel_ , he thought he might implode, his entire being sucked through the bottomless hole inside him that had gone with Taemin when he left.

It somehow helped that Jonghyun knew. Jinki knew in the sense that he knew Minho couldn’t be okay. Kibum was wrapped up in finding Taemin, in facing his own personal demons. It wouldn’t have been right if Jinki had taken time to care for Minho when Kibum needed it.

He didn’t have the words to say what he needed. With Jonghyun, he didn’t need the words. He had never needed to say anything to make Jonghyun understand the what and the why and the where. He’d always just known.

It was how Jinki and Kibum found him asleep on the couch, peaceful for the first time in days. Jonghyun shushed them, a protective hand on Minho’s shoulder.


	10. Chapter Eight

Usually when Taemin’s system was pulsing with drugs, there wasn’t much cognitively happening, at least that he could remember later. Sometimes he remembered what happened to him physically, Jiyong’s fingers prying his eyelids open to make sure he was still alive when his breathing slowed enough to worry him; hands belonging to men who didn’t care that their whore was passed out and unresponsive.

He was barely aware of the passing of time. He could never keep one day straight from the next, any more than one hour meant more to him than another. When he thought it had been weeks, it was probably only hours. Minutes could be days. He never knew until someone told him.

This time it was as though he had a clock next to his ear. He felt the seconds tick by so slowly they almost hurt. He dreamt terrible dreams that he didn’t always remember, except that they all ended with Minho kneeling by a grave. Sometimes there was a coffin, sometimes it was empty, just a headstone where there should have been a body.

Usually, Kibum was there as well, standing above Minho. He always looked angry. Minho… Minho just looked lost. His face was blank. Not the kind of blank that came from too few emotions, but the kind that came with too many. Taemin had never seen that look on Minho’s face before and he’d hoped he would never see it again.

Once or twice he saw Jinki or Jonghyun, standing awkwardly off to the side. Jinki cried. He was the only one who cried. Jonghyun looked like he wanted to, but he never did. Taemin wanted to tell them to go to Minho, to take him away from there, but they left him on his knees in the dirt.

The dreams got more confusing after that, flashes of doorways and hallways that never went anywhere. Sometimes a face he recognized but couldn’t name calling him onward, only to vanish when he opened a door to another identical hallway. When he turned around to go back through the door, it was gone, only more of the endless hallway. He wanted to sit down and stop. He could barely breathe, his chest aching. But his feet kept moving, leading him from one corridor to another.

When he finally opened his eyes, his body ached. His head was pounding and his skin felt too small, stretched across his bones. Jiyong was sitting beside him, squeezing drops of water from a washcloth into Taemin’s mouth.

“Hey there. How are you feeling?”

“Weird,” Taemin said, providing the only word that seemed to describe the way his body felt, floating and heavy at the same time.

“You’ve got a fever,” Jiyong said, pressing the back of his hand to Taemin’s forehead. “I don’t know what’s causing it and Makoto’s not exactly providing any medicine.”

“Oh,” Taemin said helpfully. Honestly, although the words made sense when Jiyong said them, he was having a hard time understanding anything once they got past his ears.

There was the loud rapping of the padlock banging against the door. Taemin flinched, the sound echoing painfully in his head. Even Jiyong jumped, looking to Seunghyun as the door slid open, revealing the two men standing there.

“No,” Jiyong said. He stood as though he could block them from taking Taemin with his body. “No, absolutely not. Makoto knows he’s ill.”

“Makoto wants him ready now.”

“He can’t--”

“He’s not dead. Makoto wants him.”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ what Makoto wants. Give the boy a chance to sleep! It’s eight in the morning and he’s barely been out for four hours--”

“Just give him to us and it won’t be a problem.”

“Who’s even willing to pay for sex at eight in the morning?”

It was not the strangest request Taemin had ever had. He sat up carefully. “Jiyong, it’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Jiyong protested. “Taemin, they’re going to kill you. You’re too sick for this.”

“Give me a minute,” Taemin said to the men in the doorway. He managed to maneuver around Jiyong and force himself out of bed, but his knees gave out within a few heartbeats. He hit the ground hard.

“Do you see?” Jiyong demanded, turning to help Taemin to his feet, keeping an arm protectively around him. “You can’t expect him to keep doing this.”

The second try was a little better. He managed to keep standing, but he wasn’t sure he was capable of walking more than three or four steps. It was, fortunately, only that far to the door.

“Seunghyun, please keep him back,” Taemin murmured, his gaze focused on the ground to keep it from tilting on him.

“What? Taemin, stop. Do you honestly think someone is going to want him like this? Seunghyun, _let me go_!”

Taemin waited until Seunghyun caught Jiyong’s shoulders, gathering what little strength he had before he stumbled toward the door. He made it into the hallway before his body gave out entirely. It didn’t hurt, which found funny. He thought it might have been because he already hurt so badly there wasn’t much a few more bruises could do.

The door locked behind him and one of the guards picked him up by his arm, hauling him down the hallway. He could hear Jiyong shouting after him, but the words were so distorted by the time they reached him, he couldn’t understand. Taemin tried to help as much as he could, but he was too weak to do much but stumble along every few paces. By the time they tossed him on the bed, he was barely conscious.

His guards didn’t even give him a chance to recover after that appointment, hardly letting him finish pulling his shirt over his head with shaking hands, before they were hustling him further away from the room he shared with Jiyong and Seunghyun. The man in the second one had the looked greasy in the way that only the worst of them managed, a horrifying lecherous look that only intensified when he saw how weak Taemin was.

Taemin was deposited on the bed, little better than a boneless heap. He was shivering, so cold he was surprised he couldn’t see his breath. His vision was blurred, but the slamming of the door was loud enough to send reverberations through his entire body. He couldn’t even manage to undress himself, but the man didn’t seem to mind, pulling Taemin’s clothes off with a ridiculous urgency. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

It hardly hurt anymore, the way these men handled him. He’d felt it all. He had no shame now anyway, nothing left of him to judge by normal standards of decency.

The man was quick. It was a sad, pathetic blessing, but Taemin was not about to complain, especially when he could hardly breathe. He’d only gotten his pants on again by the time the man left. He couldn’t bother with the shirt, waves of black covering his eyes and receding. He managed to stumble most of the way to the door before he collapsed, his eyes shutting seconds before his head hit the floor.

\---Bonus Scene---

Jinki woke to a sound he had never, in their five years of being together, heard coming from Kibum’s mouth. Kibum was whimpering, curled practically in a ball on the bed. Jinki sat up, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder, but he hesitated when he heard Kibum speak.

He was pleading with somebody, repeating variations of, “No, no, please don’t” over and over again. Jinki didn’t want to add any tactile sensations to Kibum’s nightmare, but he needed to wake him up. He could see tears on his boyfriend’s cheeks even in the darkness.

“Kibum, wake up,” Jinki whispered, his lips close to Kibum’s ear. He didn’t dare speak any louder, in case Jonghyun or Minho heard. “Bummie, wake up, honey.”

“Please, I can’t… No, help me, please--”

Jinki hesitated a second longer and then put his hand on Kibum’s shoulder. “Bummie, I’m right here.”

Kibum tensed beneath his fingers, his body jerking away from the contact. His eyes snapped open and he sat up, pulling his knees up to his chest, burying his face against them. He was shaking so hard Jinki could feel the bed shivering.

“Kibum?”

“P-Please don’t touch me. Just give me a second.”

“Whatever you need.”

At the sound of his voice, Kibum’s head lifted a little. It was too dark to see anything but the outline of his face and the slight reflection of the tear streaks on his cheeks. He sobbed once, hard enough that Jinki thought it had to have hurt, and threw himself against Jinki’s chest. Jinki wrapped his arms around Kibum, stroking the back of his head.

“You’re okay, Bummie.”

“I can’t do this. I’m so scared.”

For a brief moment, Jinki hated Taemin for doing this to them. He hated that Taemin couldn’t just stay home with Minho, although the feeling faded quickly. He knew he didn’t understand, not really, what Taemin had been going through. He’d seen the change in the previous few months, the way he had become more jittery, jumping whenever anyone said his name. Taemin had become reserved, granting them all tight smiles whenever they spoke to him, following Minho as though Taemin was afraid he might disappear if Minho didn’t hold him to the ground. He didn’t understand addiction, he never would, but for someone as strong as Taemin, it must have been horrible for him to give everything up the way he had.

“I know you’re scared, honey. Come on, lay down with me.”

Kibum moved aside long enough for Jinki to lay on his back. As soon as Jinki spread his arms, Kibum was there, lying practically on top of him and resting his head on Jinki’s chest. Kibum took one of Jinki’s hands, twining their fingers together.

He was crying, Jinki realized. He’d attributed the shaking and the way his voice broke to fear, but they were actually caused by his tears. In their position he could hear the soft, heart-rending gasps.

“I don’t know what to do,” Kibum said, his voice muffled by Jinki’s shirt.

“You’re doing everything you can.”

“I should be going to get him. I should be finding him and taking him home, but I can’t… I’m so scared of him, of what he could be doing to Taemin, of what he _has done_ to me.”

It took Jinki a second to understand that the ‘him’ Kibum was afraid of was Makoto and not Taemin. When he did, he just held Kibum a little closer.

“If-if he… If I see him again… I don’t know what I’m going to do. I was so afraid of him for so long… I guess I am still afraid of him.” He sobbed again, pressing his face harder against Jinki’s chest. “I don’t think I can do this. Taemin is like my little brother, the only family I still have, but this is too hard.”

Jinki reached down and brushed Kibum’s hair out of his face. Kibum looked up at him and Jinki traced Kibum’s cheekbones with his thumb, pretending not to feel the cool tear tracks on his skin. He so badly wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to. He wanted to be able to say that Taemin would be fine, but he couldn’t.

“Bummie,” Jinki began slowly, “you have to. Without you, we can’t get Taemin back.”

“I know.”

He was crying again, but silently this time. The only thing Jinki could do was hold him and pet his hair as though anything he did did a damn bit of good.

“Whatever happens, I will not let him touch you again,” Jinki promised. “I’ll die before you have to go back to that.”

Kibum shook his head. “Don’t say that. I would go back to him before I let anything happen to you.” He took a deep breath and held it, then let it out in a whoosh. “Can you sing me to sleep? I’m so tired but I’m afraid of the dreams.”

Jinki knew his voice was nowhere near as good as Jonghyun’s. He’d never had any training, but Kibum liked listening to him, so he nodded.

“What do you want to hear?”

“Something quiet and peaceful?” Kibum suggested. “Something safe.”

There were still tears in his eyes and Jinki couldn’t have refused him even if he wanted. He picked the lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was sick as a child and began to sing it in a soft whisper. Kibum just watched him beneath his eyelashes for a few lines, but eventually his eyes fluttered closed, the last of the tears sliding onto Jinki’s shirt.

Just when Jinki thought he’d fallen asleep and he’d let his voice trail off, Kibum’s eyes opened again. “Jinki?”

“Yeah, Bummie?”

“I love you.”

Jinki bent his head and kissed the top of Kibum’s dark head. “I love you, honey. Sleep now, okay? Do you want me to sing more?”

Kibum’s eyes were already closed again and he shook his head, sliding a leg around one of Jinki’s.


	11. Chapter Nine

They waited two whole days before Heechul called. Kibum had tossed the phone to Minho, his hands full of soapy water.

“Answer it,” Kibum ordered, vanishing back into the kitchen to dry his hands.

“Hello?”

“Key?” Heechul’s voice asked.

“It’s Minho.”

“Ah, close enough. The kid’s… alive.”

The last time someone had hesitated before telling him Taemin was alive had been almost five years ago and Minho hadn’t liked the consequences of that at all. Jonghyun came up behind him, sticking his head close so he could hear the conversation. Minho had the brief urge to hit him.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s alive and that’s all I needed. Tell Key I’ll be there when he calls.”

“Heechul--”

“He’s alive. Focus on that right now. Tell Key to call.”

Heechul hung up. Minho wanted to throw the phone across the room, but he slid it into his pocket with a sharp hiss of annoyance. Jinki looked up at him from the couch.

“What did he say?”

“He’ll meet us whenever Key--Kibum--calls. Taemin’s alive, but he won’t say any more than that. I think that’s probably bad.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jonghyun was murmuring, an arm around Minho’s shoulders, “come here. Sit down before you fall down, you idiot.”

Kibum had reclaimed his phone and was dialing it while Jonghyun eased Minho down onto a couch. Jinki was crouching beside them.

“Do you need something to drink?” he asked.

Minho gave him a wry look, lifting his face from Jonghyun’s shoulder. “Last time you gave me something to drink, _you drugged me_.”

“Fair enough,” Jinki said.

Minho hoped the expression on his face was sufficiently unimpressed, but Kibum had already started speaking, halting any further of their conversation.

“Siwon? I’m texting you an address. Meet us there in half an hour.” A pause, during which Minho could hear Siwon’s voice, but not what he was saying. “How many are you bringing? Okay. Be ready. We’re going to Makoto after that.” Another pause. “Trust me.”

Kibum ended the call and dialed again before anybody in the room had a chance to ask any questions.

“I’ll send you an address. Meet us there in thirty minutes. If I’m not there, do not go in. You’ll see Jinki’s car. Bring four people with you. We’re going to Makoto.” He paused. “Bring some. If everything goes the way I want, we won’t have to use them, but I don’t want him to take us by surprise.”

Once he hung up, he spent a few more seconds texting what Minho assumed was the address, then he turned and looked the rest of them over.

“You’ll have to do, I suppose. You need to remember that Makoto is dangerous. His guards are the immediate threat, but that’s why we have Heechul and Siwon. They won’t dare touch anyone with those two there. Jonghyun, grab a jacket. You’ll look more intimidating. Let’s go.”

The flowed out the door in Kibum’s wake.

Jinki parked the car in a lot at an empty school, which Kibum swore was in neutral territory. At least it wasn’t Heechul’s or Siwon’s, which was neutral enough for their purposes.

“The principle sees that the door to the auditorium is left open,” Kibum explained, ducking through a hole in the chain link fence. “It’s for the students who don’t have safe homes at night, but it’s empty during the day. A lot of people still use it for meetings but they’ll run once they see Siwon.”

“How do you still know these things?” Jonghyun asked, kicking down a bundle of weeds that had sprung up alongside the building.

“I’ve still got my sources,” Kibum said, flicking his cigarette.

Minho could easily see the person Kibum could have become, if not for first Taemin and then Jinki. This came too naturally to him. He had no fear, or at least he didn’t show it. Minho was terrified.

The door was already cracked open and Minho could see three shadows moving around inside. Kibum stepped in first and was promptly stopped by a fourth person that Minho hadn’t even seen.

“Easy, Hyukjae. It’s just me.”

Hyukjae looked them over and let them pass. A fifth person appeared from along the edge of the gym. The lights were out, but some sunlight filtered through the dirty windows, staining everything a brownish color.

“You’re smoking again?” Siwon asked by way of greeting. Kibum ignored him, but tossed it back out the door. “What’s the plan?” he asked when Kibum returned.

“We’re waiting on a few more people,” Kibum said, as easily as if he were talking about the weather or ice cream flavors, but Minho saw the frown flash across Siwon’s face.

“Who?”

“Me,” Heechul said, stepping through the doorway. Zhou Mi, Ryeowook, and Kyuhyun hopped through after him. Hankyung followed a second later, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. There was a collective tensing around them and that was when Minho realized Kibum may have neglected to tell them that Makoto was a secondary danger, after these two.

“Well, look who it is,” Siwon said, his lips tightening into a mockery of a smile.

“Siwon, don’t,” Kibum hissed, stepping between him and Hankyung. “We need you both. Please don’t--”

“You never had to make me choose,” Hankyung said in his deceptively soft voice. Minho wondered again what exactly his role was.

“Masters,” Siwon pointed first to himself and then Heechul. He pointed toward Hankyung and added, “dog.” Kibum’s hand was pressed to Siwon’s chest, pushing him a few paces back and closer to Henry and Donghae, both of whom reached for him. For his part, Hankyung seemed to take the rebuttal in stride. He folded his arms behind his back and waited. Heechul was angry and before Kibum could try to soothe things again, his hand was on Hankyung’s shoulder, pulling him away.

“We’re done.”

“No, Heechul, wait--” Kibum shot Siwon a furious look and pointed toward Heechul. “What are you doing, Minho? Go after him!”

Minho wasn’t entirely sure what good his presence would do in the grand scheme of things, but he followed Ryeowook’s retreating back out the door, catching up to them at the corner of the building. Zhou Mi shot Minho a look, but didn’t make him leave.

Hankyung had allowed Heechul to propel him forward until they were out of sight of the door, then he began resisting, slowly bringing Heechul to a halt. He took a moment to carefully disentangle himself from Heechul’s fingers, stepping back until they were a few feet apart.

“Heechul--” Hankyung began.

“I am not letting him get away with that.”

Hankyung shook his head, the wind blowing a lock of hair into his face. He brushed it aside and folded his arms behind his back again.

“I am what I am,” he said, sounding resigned. “I know what I am.”

The words sounded a lot like something Taemin had told Minho once, before he’d  shown up with Kibum on Minho’s doorstep.

“You’re not a dog.”

“I’m little better than one.”

“That’s not true!”

Hankyung sighed, reaching for Heechul’s arm. “Chullie…”

Minho heard Zhou Mi draw in a sharp breath. Kyuhyun had been contemplating the dirt at his feet, content to wait until someone made a decision, but his head lifted as soon as Hankyung spoke. Minho got the feeling that Hankyung was in an elite group of people allowed to call Heechul that. He also wouldn’t have been particularly surprised if that ‘group’ consisted of only one person.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Chullie.”

“Oh fuck you,” Heechul snapped. “You don’t get to pull this ‘kind and gentle Hankyung’ with me. I know it’s bullshit. I know _you_ better than that.”

“Then you don’t get to pretend that you don’t care what happens to Taemin. I know Zhou Mi told you what he was like. He needs saving and Minho’s the only one that can do that for him.” Hankyung gave Minho a significant look, which he took to mean that it was his turn to speak.

“Kibum is right,” Minho offered. “We need both of you. All of you. I don’t know what Taemin is like, because all I’m getting from you is ‘alive’ which is great, but I’m thinking that he’s probably not going to stay that way for long. I can’t let him stay there. I need him home with me.”

Hankyung winked at him and then looked back at Heechul.

“There was a time not so long ago when someone else needed saving, remember?”

“Go away,” Heechul said miserably. “I’m not crawling back in there with my tail between my legs. He’s never letting me live that down.”

“If you stopped letting your temper get the better of you, you wouldn’t have to crawl in there with your tail between your legs. Go,” Hankyung said, pointing back toward the door. “You can thank me later.”

Heechul did, with no great amount of grace. The other three followed him, but Minho stayed behind a moment with Hankyung.

“Thank you.”

Hankyung smiled and the shadow that had been on his face vanished. He looked years younger, even if it somehow didn’t make him look any happier. “You don’t need to thank me. He would have come to it on his own. He means well, and he cares a great deal for Taemin. I remember that much.”

“Who are you? I mean, I get Kyuhyun is terrifyingly good with knives, and I’m assuming Zhou Mi serves as some sort of intimidation tactic, but… What are you?”

Hankyung just shouldered the bag and headed toward the door. Minho sighed and followed him. When everything quieted down, he’d ask Kibum.

They walked into the middle of an argument about, from what Minho could gather, exactly which expletive applied to Siwon. Hankyung muttered something in Chinese that had Zhou Mi chuckling and stepped into the fray, taking Heechul by the shoulders and moving him aside. That, somehow, quieted him.

Kibum gave Minho an exasperated look. He had, at some point, lit another cigarette and it was already half gone.

“Are we _done_ now?” Kibum demanded. “Can we just go get Taemin? You can argue about whose is bigger later.”

“How are we getting in?” Henry asked, seeming as grateful as Kibum was to get the arguing over.

“Makoto will let me in,” Kibum said. “He can’t resist a chance to gloat.”

Heechul called to Hankyung and the man knelt, opening the bag at his feet. He tossed a dark item to Ryeowook, who caught it in midair. He’d already thrown one to Zhou Mi and one was in the air for Kyuhyun before Minho realized they were handguns.

Minho sent Kibum a look, but the other man just shrugged. Hyukjae caught the next one, passing it behind him. Within a minute or two, everyone in the room, with the exception of Kibum, Minho, Jonghyun, and Jinki, was holding a weapon.

“They’re not loaded,” Siwon observed.

“I’m not carrying a bag of loaded guns around,” Heechul said. “If I’m shooting someone, I’m doing it on purpose.” He nodded and Hankyung unzipped a second compartment, tossing more… things… in their direction. “ _Now_ they’re loaded, presuming you haven’t forgotten how?”

Siwon just rolled his eyes.

“As long as you don’t shoot yourself in the foot, I think we’ll be okay,” Siwon said, sliding his into a jacket pocket. “What’s your plan for getting there?”

“We’re three blocks away,” Kibum said with a shrug. “I say we walk and make sure he knows we’re coming.”

Heechul grinned and Minho thought it was possibly the most frightening expression he’d ever seen. “I knew I liked you. Ryeowook, Kyuhyun, follow behind with the cars and park them a few streets away. One of you take theirs.”

“Yesung, go with them,” Siwon said.

Kyuhyun lifted the keys from Jinki’s fingers and jogged out the door with Ryeowook and Yesung. Any animosity between the two leaders didn’t seem to extend to anyone beneath them as Yesung clapped a hand on Ryeowook’s shoulder.

Minho didn’t see anybody on the walk. He figured eleven people walking down the middle of the road was probably enough to send most people here running for their houses.

A building, a complex, loomed in front of them before too many minutes. It was dilapidated, two floors of boarded up windows and the roof sinking in places, but the door looked more than solid.

“There are upwards of twenty or thirty rooms inside,” Hankyung murmured from behind them. “He’s being kept in one, although I didn’t get to see which. There’s a separate section reserved for the actual whoring, and several rooms that are Makoto’s.”

“We’ll be taken to Makoto,” Kibum said, knocking twice on the door.

It swung open immediately and a man opened it. “You’re all armed, aren’t you?”

Kibum nodded.

“You’re not going to hand them over, are you?”

Kibum shook his head.

“Just know that his guards are armed too,” the man said, and then he led them silently through twisting corridors to a room that seemed to be near the center. The hallways were empty, both of people and any sort of distinguishing decoration.

They were led to the same room Minho had seen in the picture, although there were no people kneeling along the walls this time. Makoto was sitting in a chair at the head of the room, three men standing behind him.

Minho was surprised. He’d expected Makoto to be more intimidating than he was. He was a short, corpulent, balding Japanese man. Truthfully, the Japanese he’d expected from the name alone, but he really had expected someone more of Siwon’s type.

“Siwon,” Makoto said, standing up. He looked mildly disappointed, but Minho had spent enough time around actors to know when someone was acting. He was nervous, eyes flicking between Siwon, Heechul and, oddly enough, Hankyung. “I thought I was clear on you having any sort of association with Heechul.”

“I want Taemin back,” Kibum interrupted.

 _He_ was nervous too. For all that he sounded strong, his hands were shaking. He’d gripped the hem of his shirt to ease the shakes. Makoto was the reason he still had nightmares, why Jinki showed up at Insomnia with dark circles under his eyes and sat with his head on the table until he’d had enough caffeine to restore him.

“Key.” Makoto’s voice was smooth. He may have been afraid of Siwon and Heechul, but Kibum was nothing to him, and Kibum was in charge. Kibum flinched visibly and a small, triumphant smile appeared on Makoto’s face. “Key, you don’t want him back.”

“This isn’t up to you,” Kibum said, regaining some of his strength from Jinki’s hand curling over his shoulder. “I’m taking him home. The only question is whether or not I send people into every room in this building until we find him or if you bring him here.”

“Zhou Mi, Yesung,” Siwon called. The two stepped forward. Makoto’s guards tensed. “Destroy everything you find.”

“Why do you want him back? He’s worthless now anyway.”

“Why do you want to keep him then?” Kibum countered. “Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what you do to the rest of your whores. I want Taemin.”

Makoto let out a harsh breath, gaze flicking over each of the men before him, and caught one of his guards by the shirt front. “Go get him.”

“Sir--”

“Get him!” The guard took off running, brushing past Donghae and sprinting down the hallway. Makoto sent them another greasy smile. “It’ll just be a minute.”

The ‘minute’ turned into about five and Makoto’s guards were getting more nervous by the second. It didn’t help that Heechul and Siwon were chatting like old friends, doubtless reminding Makoto exactly why he’d never wanted them working together again. They would have made a terrifyingly formidable team, with Heechul’s apparent disregard for anything and everything and this time Siwon didn’t seem too concerned with reining him in.

When Minho was almost ready to go find Taemin _himself_ , he heard the sound of footsteps returning. The door opened and all of the things Minho had planned to say when he saw Taemin again died in his throat.


	12. Chapter Ten

When Taemin finally began to swim out of the darkness, he was being carried. He didn’t quite understand where he was, but he knew something was wrong. From what he remembered, he was supposed to be in one of the rooms, probably with another appointment. He couldn’t do it.

“No,” he gasped, trying to struggle out of the arms. “No, please. I can’t do it anymore. Please, I just want to go home.”

“Ssh,” Jiyong’s voice said, and a gentle hand brushed his hair off his forehead. “It’s okay, Taemin. We’re not taking you there.”

“I don’t want…”

His struggles had exhausted what little energy had been restored and the words faded into panting breaths. Jiyong’s hand stayed on his forehead for a few seconds more.

“You’re burning up. Try to stay still a little longer. Everything is going to be okay. We’re almost there.”

“I can’t…”

Jiyong shushed him again. “It’s just through this door. Can you see it?”

Taemin looked where he was pointing. He could see the darker outline where he assumed the door was, and a person-shape pushing it open. It hurt his head.

“It’s fuzzy. It makes me dizzy.”

“Then don’t look yet. Keep your eyes closed until we set you down. Careful, Seunghyun.”

Taemin buried his face against Seunghyun’s chest. The solid feeling helped settle his head and stomach, at least enough so he didn’t feel like he was about to vomit. The room they walked into fell silent. He’d heard soft conversation through the door, or what he could hear beyond the roaring in his ears. First, he wondered how bad he looked. Then he wondered what they could want with him. Makoto rented his prostitutes; he didn’t sell them. Taemin wasn’t worth anything the way he was now even if Makoto had sold them.

“I’m going to set you down now,” Seunghyun said. “Do you think you can stand?”

“We’ll be right here,” Jiyong promised, his hand strong on Taemin’s upper arm. “Keep your eyes closed a little bit longer. It’ll keep you from feeling so dizzy.”

It was a matter of a few tries to get Taemin on his feet, and a few more to make sure he was steady. Once he was certain that _he_ wasn’t spinning, he let his eyes open slowly, trying to reconcile himself with the concept of not falling over. Even so, it took him a few seconds to realize what he was looking at.

Minho caught him as he fell, easing him to his knees, his arms wrapped so tightly around Taemin that it hurt. He didn’t care. He buried his face against Minho’s neck, desperate to know that this was real. He needed to know that it was Minho’s scent, his voice.

“Taeminnie, are you okay? Baby, please, are you okay? Say something.”

Taemin managed to choke out Minho’s name, his hands clenching in the fabric of Minho’s shirt. “I love you. I love you, I’m sorry. I won’t go away again. Please, take me home. I’m sorry. I won’t leave you again.”

Minho pulled away just a little bit, but Taemin refused to let go, afraid that if he did, Minho would vanish, some sort of hallucination brought on by the fever and the drugs. Once he seemed to realize Taemin didn’t want him to move, he pressed himself closer, stroking the back of Taemin’s neck.

“Of course I’ll take you home, my love. Ssh, don’t cry. Stay strong a little bit longer and then we’ll be home again. It’s okay. I’m here.”

“What _the fuck_ did you do to the boy?” a familiar voice demanded, breaking the silence around them. “He’s been here for less than two weeks.”

“I--”

That was Makoto’s voice. Taemin tried to pull away, scrubbing the tears from his eyes, but Minho held him in place, rubbing his back as a fresh wave of tears spilled from him. He couldn’t be this weak in front of Makoto. Makoto would kill him.

Minho brushed the tears away with his fingertips, still whispering gentle words in his ears. It helped clear a little of the panic from Taemin’s mind. Minho had promised to keep him safe once, and Minho would keep his promise. As long as Minho was there, he was safe.

“No, shut up,” the first voice said again and Taemin finally recognized it. Heechul. “I didn’t say you got to talk yet. Kyuhyun, if he tries to talk again, stab him.”

“With pleasure.”

“ _How_ do you do this to a person so quickly?”

Jiyong cleared his throat. “He was doing an appointment a day until two days ago. He had five then and then passed out after two yesterday.”

“Kyuhyun, stab him anyway.”

Another voice Taemin didn’t recognize made a quick sound, as though Kyuhyun, whoever he was, had moved to do it. “No, don’t.”

A voice Taemin recognized as well as Minho’s spoke at the same time. “Heechul, _don’t be stupid_.”

Taemin felt Minho shaking in his arms. He tried to put his hand on Minho’s face, to tell him that he was okay, that he didn’t have to be so angry. He decided after a second that it was too difficult of a target and went for his chest instead. Minho’s fingers wrapped around his, holding his hand there.

“If you don’t kill him, I swear to you I will,” Minho said. “No,” Taemin said, pulling Minho’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his palm. “No, Minho, please don’t.”

For the first time since he collapsed, Taemin met Minho’s eyes and saw the kind of agony there he’d never thought possible for a human to feel. He looked exhausted and he’d lost weight that Minho really couldn’t afford to lose. His eyes were red, either with lack of sleep or tears, and Taemin didn’t think that anger was the only reason Minho’s hands were shaking.

“Have you been eating?” Taemin asked in a quiet voice, once Heechul had started arguing with whoever was over on that side of the room.

Minho laughed a little bitterly, cupping Taemin’s face in his hands. “Have _I_ been eating? Do you get to ask me that?”

“I… can’t really see,” Taemin said, gesturing out toward where Heechul’s voice had lowered into a dangerous drawl. “Or, I can see, but not well. Who’s here? I mean… I recognize Heechul and you, but…”

“You can’t see?” Minho asked, his voice suddenly frantic.

“It’s blurry. I think… I think it’s because I’m sick.”

“Kibum,” Minho called. “Leave them to this. I want to take Taemin to the hospital. He can’t see.”

“Jonghyun, help Minho carry him to the car.”

“No,” Taemin said. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“Baby, you have to. You’re sick, you can barely stand, you’ve…” Minho looked away, his eyes closing for a brief second and Taemin felt guilty. “You need to be checked out.”

“Please, it’s getting better. I just want to go home.”

Minho looked up and Jiyong answered whatever question had been on his face.

“He’s very sick, but I think it’s just a fever. I don’t know what’s causing it. If you could get some real food into him and get him to sleep, he should be okay.” Jiyong paused. “I think what he needs now is you, not doctors.”

“We’ll go home, but if you’re not better in two days, or if you get any worse, I’m taking you to the hospital. And you’re going to the doctor when you’re better.”

Taemin nodded. He just wanted his home and his bed and more than anything, he just wanted Minho. Minho pulled away a little, rising to his feet and two sets of hands helped Taemin to his feet. Jonghyun was on one side, Minho on the other, and from this position he could see a little better. His vision really was clearing a little.

Kibum was standing at the head of a group of people, most of whom Taemin didn’t recognize. He smiled tightly at Taemin, reaching a hand out toward him, even though he was too far away to reach. Jinki was beside him. Makoto and his guards looked cowed, eyeing everyone else warily. Heechul and, if Taemin wasn’t wrong, Siwon were standing just to one side, and were probably largely responsible for the Makoto’s fear.

He flinched when Jiyong’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Jiyong apologized, squeezing his shoulder and then letting go. “Don’t show back up here, okay? Go home with your Minho and stay there.”

Taemin nodded, pressing his cheek against Minho’s hand on his other shoulder. “Thank you. Now… might be a good time for you to leave too.”

“I’ll work on him,” Jiyong said, stepping back and making space for Jonghyun and Minho to maneuver him out of the room.

“Kibum,” Heechul called. “We’ll take care of him.”

“Do whatever you want,” Kibum said tightly. Heechul smiled, sending a shiver down Taemin’s back. Kibum and Jinki had caught up by then, Kibum’s hand on Taemin’s back. “Is there anything here you need?”

“My jacket,” Taemin said, suddenly remembering. “I want my jacket.”

“I’ll take you there,” Jiyong offered, stepping past them and leading the way.

It was slower going there than it had been coming. It took some doing to arrange three sets of legs, especially when Taemin was still too weak to do much on his own. By the time they got there, Taemin had regained some of his strength, enough to take a few steps on his own.

He managed, through some miracle of persuasion, to convince everyone but Jiyong and Seunghyun to wait outside the room. He retrieved his jacket which, honestly, he didn’t need. He had more at home and he could have bought one whenever he wanted. He was probably going to burn this one anyway.

What he needed was the prepared needle that had been waiting for him. Taemin slipped it into his jacket pocket while the other two men weren’t looking.

Taemin felt only a little guilty when Minho folded him into his arms in the back seat of the car. Mostly he wanted to sleep and stave off the first prickles of withdrawal as long as he could, but he could feel everyone staring at him, even when Minho tucked Taemin’s head against his chest, twining their fingers together and pressing the occasional kiss to whatever part of Taemin he could reach. They stayed that way the entire car ride. It wasn’t that far by car, which hardly made him feel any safer.

Minho helped him up the stairs and, at Taemin’s request, straight to the shower. The other three followed them into the house, depositing themselves in the living room.

Taemin hesitated in front of the mirror, his hands lifting to touch his hair. He’d seen it after they dyed it, but he hadn’t really looked at it, or even at himself. It made him even sicker than he had been. He _felt_ like a whore, as though all it took was dying his hair for Makoto to reclaim him.

His face was still bruised from Makoto’s beating, although the worst of it had healed. His eyes were red from crying and weeks’ worth of exhaustion. He’d lost weight; his cheeks were hollow. His hair, his stupid, dyed hair, was lank and greasy.

“We’ll take care of it,” Minho promised, pulling his hands away. “We’ll get it dyed back or any other color you want, okay?” Taemin didn’t answer and he could see Minho’s face falter in the mirror. “The water’s ready. Can you do it on your own?”

“Probably not.”

“Do you want me or Kibum?”

It actually made Taemin smile, how well Minho knew him. Kibum was the only one who could understand what he was feeling, how much he hated being used, bought and sold at Makoto’s discretion, but he didn’t need someone to commiserate with him. He needed arms around him that belonged to someone who loved him and wanted him. He wanted Minho to burn away those other men with his presence.

“You.”

Minho undressed him carefully, hissing whenever a new bruise was revealed. He kissed the insides of Taemin’s arms when he pulled off the jacket. He dropped it and Taemin swore he heard the needle clinking against the floor, but Minho didn’t seem to hear anything.

“Minho?” Taemin asked, once they stepped into the shower.

“Yeah?”

“How long was I there?”

Minho had been massaging shampoo into Taemin’s hair. He didn’t answer for a long time, choosing to rinse the soap out first. Taemin let him, occasionally kissing Minho’s arm or hand whenever he was close enough. He’d been so afraid he was never going to see this man again that even the gentle brush of his skin was enough to make Taemin overwhelmingly happy.

“Thirteen days,” he said at last. “You were gone for thirteen days.”

“It felt longer.”

“Trust me, it was long enough.”

He was half convinced that Minho intended to scrub off an entire layer of skin, and possibly wash the dye out of his hair, but certain that he needed it. He didn’t really want to think about what he’d smelled like when Minho had caught him.

However, by the time Minho pronounced him clean, Taemin was shivering from cold he knew he couldn’t be feeling with the bathroom as steamed up as it was. Minho noticed immediately and grabbed a large towel, wrapping it around Taemin.

“Go get dressed. I’ll grab our stuff and be there in a second.”

Taemin made a quick grab for his jacket and then his pants, trying to make it seem like he hadn’t only been going for the jacket. Minho couldn’t know that he’d brought the needle with him. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but he didn’t care. It was a safety blanket. That was all.

“I can help,” he offered. Minho kissed the side of his neck and shooed him out the door, but he didn’t try to take the clothes out of Taemin’s hands.

“Put on something warm and go to bed.”

That was an order Taemin was more than happy to follow. He dressed as quickly as he could, pulling on a pair of Minho’s sweatpants and one of his sweatshirts with shaking hands. He had plenty of his own clothes, but he’d always liked wearing Minho’s clothes when he was upset, liked the smell and the sense that Minho was _there_. The jacket he tossed into the back corner of the closet where Minho would hopefully ignore it for the next few days.

He was just climbing into their bed when Minho reappeared, toweling his own hair dry. He must have brought clothes into the bathroom with him at some point, because he was already dressed.

“Do you want some food?”

Taemin hesitated and then nodded. Strangely, he was hungry. He thought it was probably being back in his home, back where he was safe and the only person who got to say whether or not someone touched him was Taemin himself.

“Are you feeling well enough for everyone else to come see you? I know they’re worried.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Minho leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You’re still really warm. If you feel like it’s too much, just kick them out. They’ll understand. Can you see any better?”

“Enough with the questions,” Taemin grumbled. “It’s better. The blurriness is almost gone.”

“I’ll make you some soup and tell them they can come in.”

He was still shivering when the other three walked in, Kibum throwing his arms around Taemin as soon as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“What the hell were you _thinking_?” he demanded. His voice broke when he spoke. “ _What_ _the_ _hell_ were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” Taemin said miserably. He wrinkled his nose and sneezed at some familiar-unfamiliar scent on Kibum’s clothes.

Kibum released him and sat back, pressing the back of his hand to Taemin’s forehead. He gave him a brief, concerned look.

“If you ever do it again, I’m killing you myself. Do you understand? I swear.”

“I won’t--” Taemin suddenly recognized the scent. “Cigarettes?”

Kibum grimaced at him. “You and Jinki both. Fuck. I’m quitting. _You’re_ the one who’s sick here.”

“I’m okay,” Taemin promised. “I am. Or I will be.”

Jonghyun, apparently tired of being ignored, shouldered Kibum aside. “I’m glad you’re home, kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” Taemin protested. “ _You’re_ almost thirty.”

“Twenty-seven! I am not almost thirty.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Respect your elders,” Jonghyun announced at last. “We’re… older and wiser.”

Taemin laughed. He hadn’t laughed in so long that the sound almost surprised him. Jonghyun winked at him, job complete, and made his escape from the room, claiming the entire couch for himself.

“I think he was dropped on his head as a child,” Jinki lamented.

“It’s okay,” Taemin said. “I missed you all. I thought I was never going to see any of you again.”

“You know I wouldn’t let that happen,” Kibum said. He’d moved to Jinki’s side to make room for Minho. “You’re family.”

“It really is good to have you back,” Jinki offered over his shoulder, leading Kibum from the room and shutting the door behind him.

Taemin managed to eat about half of the soup Minho had brought to him, but he knew that even the amount he’d brought initially was well less than a full serving. Minho just seemed happy that Taemin was eating anything.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“A little,” Taemin said. He wasn’t _really_ lying. He was feeling less nauseous, but he hadn’t had any heroin in so long. He just wanted to shoot up one last time. If he used it now, he wouldn’t have it to use later, right? “I think I want to go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Minho murmured, leaning forward and kissing Taemin’s lips gently. “I’ll clean this up and be back in a few minutes.”

“I love you,” Taemin said. He probably hadn’t told Minho he loved him this much in an entire month, but he was well beyond caring.

“I love you, honey. Sleep well.”

Taemin curled up on his side until he heard Minho close the door behind him, then he flung the blankets aside and hurried to the closet. His hurrying wasn’t much more than pathetic stumbling, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

He dug the jacket and needle out, praying it hadn’t broken. It hadn’t. He tugged his sleeve up and slid the needle into his arm while he was walking the few paces back to the bed. He hadn’t even made it back when he realized something was wrong.

Taemin stayed conscious long enough to hear someone shout his name and then Kibum’s. Minho’s face swam into view, tears in his eyes. He tried to tell him not to worry. It didn’t hurt at all. It felt _so good_ Taemin couldn’t believe he’d ever have wanted anything else. For the first time in his life, nothing hurt. At the same time, there was a strange, dulled panic when he realized he was overdosing in front of the man he loved, but it was so hard to care when everything felt so perfect.


	13. Chapter Eleven

“Taemin? Taemin, baby, please look at me.”

“Minho? What’s--Oh god. Oh my god. Jinki, call an ambulance!”

Kibum was on his knees at Taemin’s other side before Minho even realized he was there. He was somewhat more helpful than Minho was, leaning over Taemin and feeling for breaths.

“Minho--listen to me!--he’s breathing right now. As long as he keeps breathing until the EMTs get here, he’s going to be okay.”

Minho barely heard him. It didn’t look like Taemin was breathing. Aside from occasional full-body twitches, he was too still.

“I just got him back.”

“I know. He’s going to be okay. Jinki!”

“They’re on their way,” Jinki said, stepping through the doorway with the phone still in his hand, Jonghyun behind him.

“Minho, I need you to do something for me,” Kibum said. He was crying, wiping tears away with the heel of his hand. Minho supposed, in a distant way, that he was crying as well, but his entire body was numb, except for the feeling of Taemin’s slack hand in his. “I need to check something. Hold the back of your hand just above his nose and mouth. If he stops breathing, call me. Can you do that?”

Minho nodded, placing his hand where Kibum’s cheek had been. The weak gusts of air calmed him a little. Taemin was still alive. As long as he could feel the air, Taemin was alive.

“One of you, go to the door so you’re ready when they get here,” Kibum ordered. Jinki went. Jonghyun was still standing, horrified, in the middle of the room.

Kibum scrambled over to the needle and checked it. Minho didn’t know what he was looking for, but he came back a few seconds later, taking Taemin’s hand.

“Nobody would sell Makoto bad drugs. It’s an overdose. That’s good.”

“How is that good?”

“There’s this drug,” Kibum said, running his free hand through Taemin’s hair, “I don’t know what it is, but it can stop an overdose. If it were a bad batch, cut with something, they might not be able to do anything.”

Taemin convulsed again, so suddenly he ripped his hand free from Kibum’s grip. The slight gust of air Minho was anticipating never came.

“He’s not breathing,” Minho whispered.

Kibum swore, reaching for Taemin, but Jinki appeared in the doorway with the paramedics before he had time to do anything. Instead he took Minho’s hand and pulled him away from Taemin’s side, making room. Minho let himself be passed over to Jonghyun, let Jonghyun fold his arms around him and rock him gently as though he were a child.

“What happened?” one of the paramedics asked. The other two were bent over Taemin, doing something Minho couldn’t see.

“Heroin overdose,” Kibum answered, brushing tears aside again. “He stopped breathing.”

“He’s breathing again,” another one of the other EMTs announced. “I’m not sure how long he’ll keep doing it on his own. Let’s move him.”

“Is he allergic to anything?” the first asked. The other two were lifting Taemin, moving him to a stretcher and already carrying him from the room.

“Not that I know of,” Kibum said, looking over his shoulder at Minho.

“No,” Minho said. “Nothing we’ve found.”

The paramedic explained, briefly, that because of the nature of his overdose, Minho would have to follow separately, and then he was gone with Taemin, leaving the four of them standing in the bedroom, the needle on the carpet mocking them. Jonghyun was the first one to jostle them back to awareness.

“Let’s go. Jinki, do you have your keys?”

“I should…” Minho began. He was confused. He knew he should be running after Taemin, but he was so preoccupied with the needle that things stopped making sense.

“Leave it,” Kibum said, pulling at Minho’s wrist to get him to move. “We’ll take care of it later.”

The emergency room was packed, the woman at the reception desk stopping them when they asked for Taemin.

“I’m sorry, you can’t see him now.”

“Is he okay?” Kibum asked.

“He has several of our doctors with him, but overdoses of his type are very manageable, if caught in time. However, I do have some questions for his paperwork.”

Jonghyun helped Minho up to the desk, staying with an arm around his waist. The nurse looked him over, obviously expecting a girlfriend or parent.

“What is your relationship?”

“He’s my roommate,” Minho answered, as though daring her to say anything. She didn’t, just made a small mark on the paperwork.

“And his family?”

“We’re the closest thing he has,” Kibum answered.

She made another mark. “Can I have his full name, please?”

Minho looked back at Kibum who had opened his mouth, but closed it when no answer was forthcoming.

“He doesn’t know his family name,” Minho said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Oh. Birth date?”

“Sometime in July,” Minho said. “We think 1993, but… we don’t know for sure. We usually celebrate on the second or third Saturday of the month. He was born in Seoul.”

The woman blinked at him, clearly at a loss. Minho knew why. Patients of this type usually came in DOA, overdoses found on park benches or victims of gang violence.

“Oh,” she repeated. “Well then, I guess we’ll skip over the rest of that section. His emergency contact would be…”

“Me,” Minho said, providing the information she needed.

She seemed relieved when the rest of the necessary questions were answered with ease. When she’d asked the last of them, she directed them toward a seating area filled with distraught people. It didn’t make Minho feel any better.

“Sir?” she called before they got too far away. Minho turned. “He’s lucky to have friends like you.”

Minho smiled tightly and let Jonghyun lead him to the chairs. He had just managed to sink completely into his own head, somewhere past the panic beating at the edges of his ribcage when Jinki stood, startling him from his thoughts.

“Luna?”

She threw herself into Jinki’s arms and then pulled away. “Is he okay?”

“How did you even know he was here?” Jinki asked.

“My husband’s a cop, remember? We know everything. What happened?”

“Heroin overdose,” Minho said. His own voice sounded strange to his ears. It was too flat for what he was feeling.

Luna sidestepped Jinki and hugged Minho. For the first time since the paramedics had lifted Taemin from his floor, he cried. She knelt there and let him, running her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck.

“He’s going to be okay, sweetie. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know?”

She pulled away and wiped the tears off his cheeks with her thumb. “It’s because I’m a woman. I know these things. You lot with all your testosterone just aren’t up to it. He’s going to be fine.” She produced a pack of tissues with a flourish. “We’re okay now, right? I can stand up again?”

Minho didn’t laugh, but managed to smile faintly. She stood and embraced first Kibum and then Jonghyun.

“They haven’t let us in to see him yet,” Kibum said. “The doctors are with him and…”

“Naloxone is a rough treatment,” she said. “You’re probably better off not seeing him like that.” Even Minho gave her an incredulous look. She shrugged. “It’s not pretty. There’s a lot of vomiting and usually some screaming. It hurts a lot. Depending on how bad it is, they might have to do it a couple of times. But they come out of it alive, even if they’d rather not, which is why they use it.”

“How do you _know_ this?” Kibum demanded.

“We saw all kinds of people in the club,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I met my husband there, after all. A couple of the dancers were addicts.”

“This… isn’t really helping,” Minho said.

She patted his shoulder. “The important part of this is that nobody died. And if the doctors have been with Taemin this long, then he’s not dead either.”

They fell silent, Luna a comforting presence at Minho’s side. Far too long later, the door opened and a doctor emerged. The receptionist pointed him their way.

“You’re here for Taemin?”

“Can we see him?” Minho asked, standing.

“You can, but only one at a time for now. He’s sedated and we have him on an IV drip because of the infection, which was what was causing his fever. His immune system is severely depressed; I’m surprised he’s still alive, the condition he’s in.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s very, very sick,” the doctor said. “We’re giving him antibiotics to try to help him through it. He survived the overdose which was the most immediate concern, but he’s weak. It’s up to him now.”

“What are his chances?” Jinki asked.

“At this point, no better than fifty-fifty. He’s in a great deal of pain, which is mentally and physically taxing. We’re giving him everything we can to ease the pain, but we have to be careful. If he regains consciousness, we can do more then.”

“ _If_ he regains consciousness?” Minho asked, his voice a little strangled.

“He shows signs of recent starvation and dehydration, there is evidence of physical, and sexual, abuse. There will be some people here to speak with you all later, so please stay in the building. If it was an accidental overdose, the fact that he’s alive now may be sheer luck. While addicts generally don’t overdose on heroin on purpose, if it was a suicide attempt, there may be very little we can do for him.”

“Come on,” Kibum said, taking Minho by the shoulder. “Let’s go see him.”

The doctor gave them directions to Taemin’s room and they left Luna, Jinki, and Jonghyun with him.

“What did he mean ‘some people will be here’?” Minho asked while they walked. He really wanted to be wrong.

Kibum’s face was grim. “What would you think? Someone shows up here with the kind of injuries Taemin has? I know he’s tough, but they’re going to ask questions. Prostitutes usually get dragged in off street sides, not brought in by a carful of men. Hopefully Luna’s husband will be able to head them off. Here, this is his room. Go ahead.”

Minho gave him a shaky smile and stepped inside. The room was darkened, a nurse standing at the edge of the bed and making some notes on a chart. She made her way out as soon as she saw him. It was only after she stepped out that Minho could bring himself to look at Taemin.

Taemin was surrounded by impersonal, oppressive, beeping machines, reporting a thousand different things Minho didn’t understand. He watched the familiar shape of a heartbeat work its way across the screen a few times, watched numbers flash and dip until they blurred together.

He had always been a scrawny thing, long, lean muscles and tall enough to make himself look even skinnier, but he looked so small lying there, with all the machines towering over him. It hurt to hear the steady dripping of the IV, pumping some unknown liquid into his boyfriend’s body, to see the needle disappearing beneath his skin.

Minho moved to the side of the bed and hesitated a second before reaching for Taemin’s hand. His fingers were cold, but not the kind of cold he’d feared. It was the cold he’d felt a hundred times before, when Taemin had held his hand out and demanded that Minho warm him up. He’d always tried for some imperious expression, which fell apart as soon as Minho reached for him.

Careful of the cords and wires and he didn’t know what else on the floor, he brought a chair right up to the edge of the bed and sat there, breathing onto Taemin’s cold fingers, just as he always had. When Taemin didn’t make any sort of response, Minho stopped, resting his forehead on the edge of the bed.

“Baby, Taemin, can you wake up for me? Please. I-I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can… I need you to wake up. I love you. I probably don’t tell you enough, ‘cause it seemed like you were always going to be there and I’d have until the world ended to tell you, but… I need you to wake up. I don’t know how to _be_ without you. Not after so long.”

He didn’t expect an answer, and none came. He sat there, listening to the horrifying beeping, Taemin’s still hand resting in his own, until Kibum came and he relinquished the seat, kissing Taemin once before he went.


	14. Interlude Three

Kibum took the seat Minho had vacated, sitting there in silence until he collected his thoughts. Seeing Taemin like that scared him, almost worse than his actual overdose had.

“Taeminnie, I guess… You probably can’t hear me, but,” Kibum had to pause to scrub the tears from his eyes, his voice choking in his throat, “you have to wake up. I thought we were safe from all of this, you know? I never thought that you would go back. If I’d known, I would have watched you closer. I would have taken better care of you.”

He had to stop speaking to draw in a few ragged breaths.

“Back then, I’d decided you probably wouldn’t make it to twenty-one. I was hoping you’d get as far as your twentieth birthday, just because I wasn’t ready to let you go, and for a while it didn’t even look like you’d make past nineteen. But you did. You made it to twenty and then twenty-one and now you’re twenty-four and I never thought I’d lose you like this.

“We’re brothers, Taeminnie. You’re the only thing I have, aside from Jinki, and… God, this is stupid. You can’t even hear me. What’s the point? You’re unconscious and sedated and just _lying_ there and it’s worse than… than the times I saw you passed out from alcohol and heroin and wanting to die and… You’re so still and it hurts me to look at you like this.

“What were you thinking? If you die, I’m never forgiving you. I’m never forgiving myself. I should have…” Kibum trailed off, closing his eyes and rubbing the tears away again. He had to stop crying. “It’s been hard without you, Taemin. Minho’s a wreck and Jonghyun and Jinki can’t even look at each other. I just… I want you to come home, okay? That’s all. I would give everything I have if you’d just be okay.”

He stayed where he was until a nurse knocked at the door and told him he had to leave.

Jinki came in the next day, when they’d finally managed to force Minho out for some food. He wasn’t sure what to do, really. He and Taemin had never been terribly close. He was closer to Taemin than most people, but out of the five of them, he knew him the least, and he’d never visited anyone in the hospital before.

He didn’t know what all of the machines did, or how they kept Taemin alive, or if Taemin kept himself alive. He was an economics professor. He watched the stock markets, he analyzed data, he taught all the kids who didn’t care, and the couple that did care. He had never had to do this before, standing by someone’s bedside and watching them die. No matter what Kibum or Minho said, he saw the doctor’s faces when they walked out of the room. They spoke in hushed voices, recommending one treatment after another that either failed or was never implemented. And honestly, Jinki didn’t think he could get his hopes up only to see Taemin die. He didn’t think _Minho_ could get his hopes up only to see Taemin die.

In the end, he sat there for two hours, wracking his mind for things to say. He never got further than a few words before he gave up. By the time Minho came back, looking worse than he had before they got Taemin again, all he’d managed was, “Hi, Taemin, it’s Jinki. Please get better.”

It took Jonghyun two more days to get the courage to enter the room by himself. He’d gone in a time or two with Kibum and once with Minho, just to provide what moral support they needed, but never by himself. He made sure Jinki was back at the university, working his schedule out with a few TAs and some of the other professors. Jinki had apologized, scuffing his shoe into the dirt outside the hospital, but his words had struck entirely too close to home for Jonghyun’s comfort.

“Hey, Taemin. I, um, don’t know if you can hear me. The doctors say that you can, but I don’t know if I believe it. I kind of hope you can, but I really hope you don’t remember, because…” Jonghyun sighed and glanced toward the door. It stayed shut tight. “You need to get better. If you don’t, I don’t know if Minho can recover. I don’t think I can fix him.”

Jonghyun almost reached for Taemin, but he slid his hands beneath his thighs instead. He sat with his head bowed, trying to compose his words.

“I think that without you, there is no Minho. Not the Minho that we know, anyway. I wish--I wish that Minho had realized I loved him before he found you. Or maybe that I’d realized I loved him just a few weeks earlier. And if you’re going to die, I wish you had done it before Minho fell in love with you, before we all started caring about you. I just want you to know that… Minho’s yours. If I ever did anything, if I ever said anything to make you doubt that…” Jonghyun had to stop talking, hiding his face in his hands.

So much of this could have been his fault. If he had forced himself to get over Minho, if he had let himself get over Minho, maybe Taemin wouldn’t have gone. Maybe he had done something to make Taemin think Minho didn’t love him.

“I love him,” Jonghyun confessed at last. “Loved him, maybe. I’m not sure anymore. I love him, but I can live without him. I can find someone else to love like I loved him. But he can’t live without you, Taemin. That’s how I know he’s yours.”

Jonghyun groaned in frustration at himself, at Jinki for making Jonghyun doubt himself, at Taemin because he had been there for days and still hadn’t woken up.

“No matter what I say, please, wake up. Minho needs you back. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s so lost without you. It scares me. Just… Just wake up.”


	15. Chapter Twelve

The first time Taemin found himself swimming toward consciousness, like coming out of a dank, deep pool that kept sucking him back down, he only managed to open his eyes for a few seconds. He didn’t know where he was. The noises didn’t make sense, everything felt so unreal.

After a few long moments of drawing every ounce of strength he had, he managed to turn his head. Minho was sitting in a chair, half of his upper body lying on the bed, one hand outstretched and his head pillowed on his other arm. It took the last remainder of Taemin’s strength to reach out and take Minho’s hand in his own, then he was spiraling back down to the black pit of unconsciousness.

The second time he lasted a little bit longer. Kibum was pacing up and down the side of the bed, rubbing at his eyes.

“Where’s Minho?” Taemin asked. Tried to ask. It came out as a soft squeak ending in an upward “-o” sound.

Kibum spun, almost tripping over his feet. “Taemin?”

“Minho?” Taemin tried again. He got most of the word out this time.

“We sent him down to the cafeteria to get us some food. We were hoping he’d eat something if he had it with him.” Kibum’s hand ran through Taemin’s hair, brushing it out of his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“…ired.”

“You’re tired?” Kibum guessed. Taemin nodded, rubbing at his throat as though that would make the words come out better. “Go back to sleep. Minho will be here when you wake up.”

Taemin didn’t quite need the permission, his eyes falling shut again as Kibum spoke. The third time he woke up, Minho was there, just like Kibum had promised. He was in almost the same position he had been in the first time Taemin saw him, except his eyes were open, staring blankly toward the television, which wasn’t even on.

Rather than risking his voice failing him again, Taemin reached for him. The movement was easier this time; it only took about half his concentration. His fingers found Minho’s hair. It was slightly damp, as though he’d come straight from a shower. He probably had. Taemin smiled, feeling it slip beneath his fingers.

Minho reacted immediately, lifting his head and staring at Taemin. He caught Taemin’s hand and held it.

“Baby?”

Taemin nodded, gesturing to his throat. “Dry,” he whispered. “Talking hard. Hurts.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. Let me call the nurse.”

Minho reached over him for a red button, but as Taemin’s eyes followed him, he noticed the IV in his hand. It brought back the ride in the ambulance, the way he jolted back to consciousness, feeling as though every nerve, every muscle, every _bone_ n his body was burning, shattering. It brought back the memory of how he’d ended up here, the conflicting terror and peace, honest perfect _warmth_ , that had accompanied the overdose.

He didn’t want anything in him. He didn’t want to see it disappearing beneath his skin. Taemin reached for it, for the tape holding it in place, trying to pull it out. He didn’t care what it was for, if it was responsible for keeping him alive. Minho caught his hand, keeping him from succeeding.

“No, honey. It’s okay. It’s an IV.”

“Want it out!” Taemin gasped, fighting to reach it.

“Baby, baby, look at me. Taemin. Look at me.”

“Please. Please take it out.”

“Ssh, don’t cry. The nurse is going to be here soon. She can take care of it. Honey, if you don’t calm down, they’re going to have to sedate you again. I want to be able to talk to you, my love.”

It took everything Taemin had to stop fighting. He was shaking, positive he could feel it shifting beneath his skin every time he tensed. Minho didn’t let go of his hand, his thumb running over Taemin’s knuckles.

“There we go.” He reached up and brushed the tears from Taemin’s cheeks. “That’s my Taemin.”

Before he had a chance to say anything more, the room was swarming with doctors and nurses. He tried to shrink away, crying out in protest when they ushered Minho from the room. They poked and prodded, asking him again and again what his name was, what his address was, what three plus five was, how many fingers they were holding up. He ground out answers in half-phrases, his throat aching before they’d even started. When they finally left, taking the damned IV with them, they were replaced by severe-looking men in uniforms who asked him more questions. Who had hurt him? Was it any of the men he’d come here with? Was he sure? They could protect him; he had nothing to be afraid of.

It was only after they left, looking somewhat disappointed, that Minho reemerged, bearing a cup filled with ice chips.

“You got it out.” Taemin nodded, holding his hand out for the cup. Minho laughed and sat at the edge of the bed, helping to spoon some into his mouth. “Kibum said you asked for me.”

“Scared you didn’t want to stay,” Taemin said, the longest phrase he’d managed since waking up. “How long?”

“Have you been here?” At Taemin’s nod, Minho said, “A week. You talked to Kibum two days ago. Why would you think I didn’t want to stay?”

Taemin gestured to himself. “Stupid. Overdosed. Don’t know how, same as always.”

“You’re not stupid, my love. The doctors say overdoses like yours are common. Something about… conditioned place preference? Well, I didn’t understand. Jonghyun nodded a lot, so either he thought one of them was cute or he actually knew what they were talking about.”

“Want to go home.”

“Not yet. You’re still sick.”

“Home!” Taemin insisted. He felt like a child, the way he could only  manage to string a few words together. It was so frustrating that he wanted to cry. Minho must have noticed, because he kissed Taemin, his thumb tracking the path the tears would have taken while their lips pressed together.

“I’ll see what I can do, but you’re probably going to have to stay here for a few more days.”

“So scared,” Taemin whispered, closing his eyes. “Hurt _so bad_ when they made me wake up. Wanted to die.”

“Don’t think about it. You’re here, you’re alive. We can take care of everything else later.”

“Kibum?”

“He and Jinki are at home, showering and changing. Jonghyun’s out in the waiting room. Do you want to see him?”

“I’m tired,” Taemin said, determined to get a complete sentence out around the pain in his throat. “I… want to… sleep. Will be… _you_ be here?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Kiss,” Taemin demanded.

Minho smiled and, oddly, looked like he was going to cry. Taemin slid his arms around Minho’s neck when they kissed, wanting to cry himself when he felt how hesitant Minho was. Maybe he didn’t really want to be there. Maybe he was only there because he felt like he had to be.

On that heartbreaking thought, Taemin drifted back to sleep, curled up on his side, Minho’s hand still clasped in his. When he woke, he was alone. Light was shining in his window, there was a tray of food sitting beside his bed, but there was no one else there. Not even doctors or nurses, whom he hadn’t seen since they’d run their battery of tests on him.

Before he had time to truly consider the fact that he was alone, Jonghyun’s head appeared in the doorway. He grinned and stepped the rest of the way inside.

“Been awake long?”

“No,” Taemin said. His voice was stronger, even if it still scraped through his throat. He reached for the cup of melted ice chips on the table and hissed when the IV in his hand shifted.

Jonghyun grimaced and sat on the chair. He’d doubtless heard how Taemin had reacted before.

“They were worried about you not staying awake long enough to eat or drink,” he said. “Minho wanted them to take it out before you woke up, but there was something about not wanting to mess with your veins more than they needed to. Um, if you want, I can go get them to take it out.”

“Please.” Taemin was not entirely comfortable with how pleading his voice sounded.

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Just… hang on.”

A nurse came in a few seconds later without Jonghyun. She smiled kindly at Taemin and went to work, chatting mindlessly at him. She asked him a few questions he assumed were pertinent, but other than that, she let him listen in silence until she was pressing the bandage to his skin.

“There we go. Good as new. Anything else I can do for you, Mr.… Taemin?”

“Can you take the food? It’s making me nauseous.”

She gave him a severe look and for a second Taemin thought she was going to argue, but she picked up the tray and balanced it against her hip.

“You’re going to have to eat something.”

“I will,” Taemin said. “Just… not that.”

“I’ll talk to the doctors and see if we can find you something that won’t upset your stomach so badly.”

Jonghyun slid back into the room, nodding goodbye to her.

“I called Minho. He was stuck in traffic, but he’s almost here. He wanted to grab you some of your own clothes so you had them when you were discharged. The ones you were wearing were… ruined.”

Taemin didn’t really want to know what he’d done to the clothes to ruin them. Jonghyun shifted uncomfortably on the chair, tapping his fingers on his knees. Taemin was in the process of coming up with something to say when Jonghyun started speaking again, a little too loudly and avoiding Taemin’s gaze.

“I’m _really_ not good at this so, I’m just going to say: I’m glad you’re alive. It was… I was scared. We all were. So… I said most of this to you while you were out, but please stay okay, okay?”

Taemin was a little taken aback. “I will this time.”

“Good,” Jonghyun said decisively, as though that cleared everything up. For him, it probably did. He read through something on his phone. “Minho’s here. He’s on his way up. I’ll leave you. I’m really glad you’re okay. Minho’s not Minho without you.”

He made it out the door as Minho was walking in. Minho paused, watching him escape.

“What did you _do_?” Minho asked.

“Nothing,” Taemin protested.

There was a soft knock at the door and a doctor stepped in. “Hello, Taemin. The nurse said wanted the IV out again?”

“It…” Taemin rubbed at the bandage unconsciously. Minho shook his head, catching Taemin’s hand and tugging it away. “It makes me nervous.”

“Understandable,” he said, “but if you take it out, you’re going to have to eat. The treatment we have you on right now reduces the withdrawal symptoms of heroin, but because of your condition, we can’t give you enough to completely eliminate it.”

“I just want to go home,” Taemin said.

He couldn’t feel comfortable here, on display for people to watch. He wanted to lie in his own bed with Minho until he felt normal again.

“Well, we can’t keep you here if you don’t want to be here, but if you leave now, there’s nothing we can do about the withdrawals.”

“Taeminnie,” Minho said softly, drawing his attention away from the doctor. “If you really don’t want to stay here, I can take care of you at home.”

“Can I?”

“Mr. Choi, I really do not recommend this.”

“Is he in any immediate danger if he leaves?”

The doctor shook his head and Taemin could see the frustration on his face. “Patients who leave without successfully completing therapy for addiction show back up here, more often than not. I highly suggest that he stay.”

“What do you think, Taeminnie?”

“I want to go home.”

“You won’t reconsider?” When Taemin shook his head the doctor sighed. “I’ll go get your papers.”

Minho sat on the edge of the bed and carded his fingers through Taemin’s hair. “You sound better.”

“I feel a little better. Mostly. I… don’t want the withdrawals again.”

“I’ll be able to help you more this time. Let’s get you dressed while the doctor’s out.”

Much to Taemin’s chagrin, it really was a process of “us.” He’d hardly been moving the days he was in the hospital bed, and the fever combined with overdose made him excruciatingly weak. He made it out of the bed mostly on his own, but he required Minho’s help to go more than a few steps, and definitely to put his clothes on. By the time they finished, the doctor was just walking in, a nurse following behind with a wheelchair.

“All right, all I need from you is a signature right here,” the doctor showed the clipboard and Taemin signed where he was required. “I trust you won’t take it the wrong way if I say I hope I don’t see you here again.”

“You won’t.”

The doctor said goodbye and left them alone with the nurse. She let Minho help Taemin into the wheelchair.

“In the next few hours, the withdrawal symptoms will emerge. Because of the treatment you’ve been on, the first day or so may be more intense than you’ve previously experienced and it may last up to three weeks, but it shouldn’t last much longer than that. If it does, come back in.”

She stopped them in the doorway of the hospital, where Jinki was waiting with his car. “Mr. Choi, I don’t know if you remember, but I was there when you were speaking to the receptionist. I think I may be able to help you with…” she gestured to Taemin. “We have access to records of all births in Seoul.”

Minho smiled at her. “Give me a call if you find anything.”

Then he was helping Taemin into the back seat of Jinki’s car and climbing in next to him, holding his arm out so Taemin could curl against his side, which he did, burying his head against Minho’s chest.

“What was she talking about?” Taemin asked as Jinki started driving. They were all too familiar with the route from Minho’s house to the hospital.

“They were asking us questions about you… When you were born, what your last name was.”

“And you didn’t know.” Minho nodded. Taemin shrugged. “So? What’s it matter?”

“Nothing,” Minho said. “We’re almost home. Are you ready?”

“Do you need help?” Jinki asked, parking outside the house.

“No, I’ve got him. Thanks for coming, Jinki.”

“No problem. Kibum and I will get your car later. Get some rest, you two.”


	16. Interlude Four

Kibum lifted his head when the door opened, watching Jinki walk in. He stretched out on the couch, blinking when the sun that had been shining a few centimeters above his head suddenly blinded him. By the time he could see again, Jinki was almost to him and Kibum held out his arms for a hug.

“How are they doing?” he asked as Jinki took him in his arms and kissed his jaw. Kibum shifted, stretching out further and granting more skin to Jinki.

“They’re back home now,” his boyfriend said between kisses. “I think they’re going to be okay.”

“Mm, good,” Kibum mumbled, running his fingers through Jinki’s messy hair. Neither of them had managed a full night’s sleep since Taemin’s overdose. Kibum was having incessant, terrifying nightmares that woke them both several times a night. Kibum managed naps during the day, but the lack of sleep was taking its toll on Jinki.

“Taemin looks really rough. I think he could use a friend.”

“He needs Minho right now,” Kibum said. “When the withdrawals are over, then I’ll go to him.”

Jinki made an accepting sound, already back to kissing at Kibum’s throat and tracing his collarbone with his lips. “How are you?”

Kibum’s lips twisted when he remembered why he was lying in the sun like a cat in the first place. He’d been trying to nap.

“I haven’t had a cigarette in two days and I’m really _fucking_ craving one.”

“I told you not to start smoking again,” Jinki murmured and Kibum could feel his lips brushing across his throat.

“Ugh, shut up and keep kissing me,” Kibum grumbled. “You’re distracting and I really like it.”

Jinki laughed, but did as he was ordered, claiming Kibum’s lips. Kibum smiled when he felt Jinki’s arms twine against him and pull him in closer, even if he had to fling a leg out to keep from falling off the couch. He wrapped his arms around Jinki’s waist.

“I’ve missed you,” Kibum whispered. “I missed being alone with you.”

“We’re alone now,” Jinki said. He stood and pulled Kibum to his feet, leading him toward their bedroom. “Come with me.”

Kibum laughed, pressing his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder. For some ungodly reason, Jinki decided to stop in the middle of the hallway, over halfway to their bedroom, and hug him. Normally Kibum had no problem with just hugging his boyfriend or feeling the way he arranged their bodies just so when they stood together, but now he wanted a good deal more than hugging. He found the bottom button on Jinki’s shirt and undid it, letting his other hand slide the few centimeters up the other man’s stomach. He did the same with the second button, and the one after that, feeling Jinki jump a little with each touch.

“I thought that implied the bed, not the hallway,” Kibum said when he finally freed the final button and was able to slide Jinki’s shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor at their feet. “I mean, if you wanted the wall, there’s plenty of them in the living room. We didn’t have to go so far.”

He rolled his eyes and Kibum laughed again, slipping his hands down to the clasp on Jinki’s jeans.

“Last time you tried to take off my pants before we got to the bedroom I fell,” Jinki said. Kibum had to stifle a laugh. He’d felt bad, but hadn’t been able to stop laughing until he’d slid far enough down the wall to bite his own knee.

“Then stop talking and start taking off my clothes. Or walk a little faster.”

“You’re doing most of the talking,” Jinki replied, pulling Kibum’s shirt off in one quick movement and walking him backwards into their bedroom. They made it as far as the edge of their bed before Jinki stopped, pausing to kiss Kibum one more time, his hands sliding down Kibum’s arms until he caught his hands.

Kibum sighed heavily, tipping his head forward to lean against Jinki’s bare shoulder. It was so frustrating the way they would make it this far, always just a few steps before dropping back onto the bed, before Jinki would just… stop.

He knew why he did it. He knew Jinki was trying not to scare him or to remind him of the other men who had done nothing but push and hit and _take_ until Kibum had nothing left that he could give. He’d appreciated it at first, the way that he would pause if they were moving too quickly, letting Kibum catch his breath and remember that this was not what he was used to. Now he just wanted Jinki to, well, not pin him to the bed exactly, he didn’t think he could handle that, but maybe _not stop_ every damn time they made it that far.

“Jinki,” Kibum said, tapping at the elder man’s chin until their eyes met. “I missed you and if you’re going to stand there like you’re afraid of scaring me, this is not going to be any fun for either of us. I will _tell you_ if there’s something I don’t like.”

He felt Jinki sigh, but then arms were around him and he was being eased back onto the bed. Jinki followed him down, lips tracing the scars that marred Kibum’s chest. He’d long ago given up any hope of them fading away. Some of them had been there since he was seventeen, when he’d started working.

It never failed to make his heart beat a little faster, the way Jinki touched them as though he were trying to heal Kibum of their mark and what they represented. He let his eyes fall closed. “I love you.”

Jinki’s lips curved against one of the scars, the worst one, his first one. “I love you, Kibum.”


	17. Chapter Thirteen

Minho was impressed at how long Taemin’s strength lasted. They’d made it up the stairs and half way down the hall before his steps started to drag. Minho barely managed to get him changed before he was dozing off, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Sleep, Taemin. It’s okay.”

“Please stay with me.”

Minho had been planning to tidy up the bedroom a little bit and then climb in bed with him, but at Taemin’s request, he pulled off his shirt and jeans and climbed into bed. The younger man immediately wrapped himself around Minho, nuzzling his head against Minho’s throat. He was always so demanding of Minho’s touch and love when he was hurting or scared, and Minho was never more glad to give it to him than then. The shaking had already started, soft quivers that Minho could almost disregard, if he hadn’t heard the sobs.

He pressed his hand low on Taemin’s back, fingers splayed to cover as much skin as possible. The touch seemed to soothe him a little.

“I’m here. Go ahead. It’s okay.”

“I can’t do it again. I can’t.”

“You can.”

Taemin moved surprisingly fast, lifting his head and catching Minho’s lips with his, kissing him so fiercely that their teeth clashed. Minho accepted it for a little while, letting Taemin pour his frustration and pain into the kiss, but when his hands started to reach down Minho’s body, he caught Taemin’s wrists and rolled him back onto the mattress.

“No, Taeminnie.”

“I don’t want to feel this.”

“Sex isn’t going to help. And are you even… You were badly hurt, honey.”

Taemin’s eyes closed, a few tears escaping from beneath his eyelashes. “It hurts so bad already.”

“It’ll get better, remember?”

Taemin didn’t answer, rolling over so his back was to Minho. Minho pulled him in tight, pressing his front to Taemin’s back, tangling their legs together, trying to touch every spare inch of skin. He pressed his lips to the ridges of spine up Taemin’s neck, whispering meaningless words until he felt a modicum of relaxation in his boyfriend’s body, the sign that he had finally fallen asleep.

It had worried him how often Taemin slept while he’d been in the hospital. The doctors had said physically he was healed, with the exception of a few dark bruises on his hips. The fever and infection that had been causing it had been beaten back by the antibiotics, for which Minho was under strict orders to be certain he took daily. The nurses hadn’t seemed concerned, telling him it was normal for somebody under as much stress as Taemin had been. He was happy Taemin was home and in his arms, even if he was too skinny again and the pain and fear Minho had spent years driving away was back in his eyes.

The first two days were worse than Minho remembered. Taemin spent most of them huddled in a ball in the bathroom, so sensitive to pain that Minho could hardly touch him. The worst of the nausea and illness faded after three days, allowing Minho to bring him back to their bed, but Taemin still couldn’t handle anything stronger than gentle brushes of his fingertips without crying out in pain, his voice breaking Minho’s heart whenever he had to touch him to help him change clothes or to bathe the cold sweat from his body.

By the fourth or fifth day, Minho was already losing count, the fever was back, leaving Taemin shivering from cold and simultaneously sweating, his face both pale and flushed. Minho did what he could, warming him with his body and blankets when he was cold, bathing his forehead with a cool cloth when he couldn’t sleep because his skin was burning.

Taemin slept even less than he had the first time around, flitting between wide awake and awake-asleep, where he thrashed and sobbed, biting down on his fist until he broke the skin, leaving bruises. Minho could only sleep when Taemin slept at his deepest, the half hour or forty-five minutes where he lay quietly and peacefully.

Minho didn’t know what to do. What he’d done before wasn’t enough. The withdrawals had stretched out to two full weeks, driving Minho to the absolute edge of his tolerance. He didn’t know the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep, couldn’t remember the last full meal he’d been able to eat. At least this time, instead of cursing at him, Taemin couldn’t seem to let him out of his sight. That was almost as troubling. He’d had to make repeated excuses to the producers of his film, insisting that Taemin was sick and _no_ he couldn’t leave him for just a few hours.

He wasted countless meals as Taemin recoiled from the scent of food, even before Minho could finish cooking it. He managed to spoon-feed him a few bites of bland soups, which Taemin inevitably vomited up before he got much down. Sometimes he came back to the room after returning the still-full bowl to the kitchen to find Taemin curled up in a ball, biting down on the heel of his hand, trying to distract himself from the nausea with pain, trying his best to keep even one bite down.

The fever broke just under three weeks later, leaving Taemin weak and unable to rise from the bed on his own. He was finally sleeping, truly sleeping, his face as peaceful as it had been in months. Minho had taken the opportunity to clean up in the kitchen when he heard the first pattering of rain against the windowpanes. Before he even had time to realize what that meant, there was a brilliant flash of lightning and the corresponding crack of thunder.

He heard the gasp at the exact moment he realized what had happened. By the time he got back to the room, Taemin was sitting up, his hands pressed to his chest as though that would calm his pounding heart.

“Minho?” Taemin called, an edge of hysteria to his voice.

“I’m here,” Minho said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you when it started raining. I know you hate being woken up like that.”

Taemin reached for him, flinching when more thunder rolled through their house, shaking the windows. Minho let him burrow into his arms, still so skinny that he could feel Taemin’s bones.

“It’s so loud.”

“I know. Here, get back in bed. I’ll lay down with you.”

There was another wave of thunder and Taemin squeezed his eyes shut as though that would block the sound. He slid back beneath the blankets, reaching out for Minho as soon as the bed shifted beneath him.

“It’s just… It was always _so loud_ there. Always. There were always sirens and gunshots and people screaming and-and whenever I was sober it was all I could hear.”

“You don’t need to explain,” Minho said, brushing his fingers through Taemin’s hair. It was slightly greasy and unkempt. “I understand.”

“I can’t go back there again.”

“You don’t have to. You _won’t_.”

Taemin shifted, looking up at him. “Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t called me ‘baby’ since I woke up at the hospital. Why?”

“I… don’t know,” Minho confessed. He was mildly surprised Taemin remembered the exact last time it had crossed his lips.

“I liked it,” Taemin said. “It… God, I’m twenty-four and I’m not a girl. This is stupid.”

“No, you’re not a girl. I’ve noticed that, thank you, and it’s not stupid,” Minho replied, brushing his fingers over Taemin’s cheeks when he flinched away from another crack of thunder. “What were you going to say?”

“It makes me feel safe. It’s like… Like you’re going to _be_ there if… If _he_ comes back for me and tries to take me away.”

“He can’t have you. He’s never taking you from me again, okay? Taemin--Baby--you’re safe here. I will always come for you.” They’d made it through two more bouts of thunder without Taemin noticing, but the next one fell into the silence between their words and he whimpered, covering his ears with his hands. Minho pulled him closer. “What do you want, baby? What can I do to help?”

“Keep talking. Please, keep talking.”

A few days later, they were lying on the couch in the living room, Taemin wrapped both in a blanket and Minho’s arms, watching a bad movie on television. It was the first time in weeks that Taemin had left the bedroom for any place but the bathroom. An empty bowl was on the ground next to them, the first food of any significance Taemin had kept down. Minho was trailing his fingers through Taemin’s hair, damp from a shower.

Minho heard a sharp knocking on the door and then it opened, depositing Jonghyun into his hallway. He was breathing hard.

“Turn on the news.”

Taemin flicked the channel to a live feed of a massive fire in the slums, a dozen firefighters standing around, more or less staring at the flames, unable to do anything to defeat the flames.

“…Suggest twenty similar fires sprang up simultaneously in the best orchestrated arson attack Seoul has ever seen. Firefighters are at a loss for what is causing such intense flames, or for what could be the possible motivation behind the arsonists’ actions.”

The camera panned to an exhausted-looking man with soot-stained skin. “We do not believe anybody was in the building when it began burning, or else they had ample time to get out. At this point, we have no suspects. The official records suggest nobody owned these buildings, although they show evidence of recent use.”

The view switched to a helicopter panoramic of the area. They could see black smoke from four or five distinct fires.

“He said he was going to take care of it,” Kibum said. Minho hadn’t even noticed him come in. “It looks like Hankyung’s work.”

A woman’s voice said, “It has been reported there was a single casualty of all the fires. A man, mid-fifties was found bound to a chair in this building. It is not yet known if he died prior to the fire or during it.”

Minho had been watching Kibum while he spoke, but he suddenly felt Taemin stiffen in his arms and looked back at the television. He would never forget that building. It had been torched with more violence than any of the others, and the flames were easily twice as high. Most of the firefighters there were only trying to keep it contained.

Taemin bolted. Minho followed, kneeling beside him in the bathroom and holding his hair back as he vomited. He ran his hand soothingly along Taemin’s spine until he was still, kneeling with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

Minho stood and retrieved a washcloth and Taemin’s toothbrush. He gave him a cup of water to rinse his mouth out and then washed the sweat from his boyfriend’s face. “You’re really safe now. He can’t touch you.”

“I… I didn’t want him _dead_. I mean, I did. But I… Nothing like this. I know what Heechul must have done to him.”

“It’s no more than he deserved. Can you stand?” He could, bracing a hand on the edge of the sink. Minho passed him the toothbrush. “Do you want me to wait?”

Taemin shook his head. “I’m okay. It just… surprised me, is all. I’ll come back out there in a minute.” When Minho hesitated, he added, “I’m fine. I just need a second to collect myself.”

Minho kissed his temple and then left him to the task of brushing his teeth, making a mental note to throw that toothbrush out. Jinki had his arms around Kibum from behind, Jonghyun standing uneasily with his hands in his pockets.

“Is he okay?” Jinki asked.

“Mm-hmm. What did I miss?”

“They have some shoddy CCTV footage of ‘a dark-haired man of middling-to-tall height’ leaving the building a few minutes before the flames started. I’d lay good money on it being Hankyung, but they have no idea who he was. They probably won’t look too hard.” Kibum shrugged. “Most of the politicians will be glad he’s gone. It’s never comfortable living with blackmail hanging over your head.”

Taemin reemerged, ducking under Minho’s arm and standing there, only half-facing the television. Minho shut the television off, turning to see Kibum holding out his cell phone. He flicked between two text messages, one saying only, “It’s done” and the second reading, “He didn’t enjoy it.”

They’d had almost a month since Makoto’s death, a month of peace. They were safe, they were home, and Minho had thought it was pretty damn near perfect. He’d come home from a brief visit to the studio, having handed off production to his assistants, to find Taemin sitting on the couch, chin resting on his knees. Minho sat at his side and kissed him gently on the lips. He pulled away and moved to put his arm around Taemin’s shoulders.

“I’m fucking sick of this,” Taemin snapped, shoving Minho back and stalking away from the couch. He made it about six steps before he rounded on Minho.

“Sick of what?”

“Of this! Of you! You haven’t touched me _once_ since I got back. I’ve been home two months. What is it? Do I disgust you?” It took Minho a few precious seconds to even comprehend what Taemin was saying, but when he finally did, he stood, holding a hand out. Taemin slapped his hand away, withdrawing a few steps further.

“Taemin, hang on.”

“Stop treating me like I’m going to break. I’m-I’m not perfect. I’m still… But I’m better. How am I supposed to be okay if things aren’t normal?” Taemin’s voice was almost hysterical.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re always sorry for everything. Why aren’t you _my_ Minho anymore? What’s wrong with me? Am I wrong? Do I need to do something or fix something or… I don’t know… Wear something you like? Why won’t you touch me?”

“I touch you all the time,” Minho said, completely confused. Last time he’d checked, a kiss required touching.

“No.” Taemin groaned in annoyance. “No, that’s not what… God, Minho. Sex. Whenever I try, it’s like you suddenly have a case of… I don’t know, blushing virgin syndrome or something.”

“I don’t think that’s an actual syndrome.” Taemin shot Minho a dark look and he relented, holding his hands up in surrender. “No jokes. Okay. I understand.”

“What did I do wrong? Is it because I left? Are you mad about that? I will get down on my knees and _beg_ for your forgiveness if that’s what you want. Just _tell_ me.”

“It’s not you--”

“Of course it’s not,” Taemin snapped.

“Do you want me to answer or do you just want to yell at me some more?”

Taemin looked as though he had been ready to keep talking, but he deflated, slouching. “I’m done.”

“ _Thank_ you. It’s not your fault, Taemin. I’m sorry. I didn’t think…” Minho sighed. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you after so damn long. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Why not? I mean, with them, sex is sex. It’s… a business exchange. Money for sex. Sex for money. It’s not that with you. Why wouldn’t I want to?”

Taemin looked almost as confused as Minho felt. He took a chance and stepped forward, enveloping Taemin in his arms and pulling him in close. Taemin didn’t resist, molding himself to Minho’s body, pressing their cheeks together.

“You were so fragile for a while. And you were in no condition… I didn’t want to bring up any bad memories.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Taemin shoved him back again.

“You didn’t want to bring up the bad memories? You left me with the bad memories! I don’t want them. I want to remember _you_ and _your_ face and _your_ hands. I don’t want _them_. They’re all I have! Fuck you and your ‘memories.’”

He moved to leave, Minho didn’t know where, but he caught Taemin’s wrist anyway, pulling him back into the living room.

“You do not get to storm out of here.”

“Watch me.” Taemin tried to yank his wrist free, but Minho held on, maneuvering himself between Taemin and the door, then marching him backwards to the couch until he fell backwards onto it. Taemin yelped in surprise. “Let me go!”

“Is it honestly sex that you want? Is that really what this is about? Because, first of all, I’m not really feeling it after you yelling at me, and second, you’re not going to get this upset just because we haven’t had sex in a while.”

“Three months!”

“A substantial while.”

“You’re not right anymore,” Taemin confessed at last, finally freeing his arm, but Minho’s body was trapping him where he was and he stayed seated, tucking his knees up to his chest.

Minho knelt in front of the couch. Taemin hated being intimidated and Minho tried to never frighten him, even accidentally. Towering above him after throwing him down on the couch was probably not the best way to go about this conversation. “What do you mean, I’m not ‘right’?”

“You’re this… this strange mixture of overprotective, which you’ve always been, and angry, which you’ve never been, and I can’t help but think that you’re mad at me and I keep trying to find out what I did, but you keep saying that I didn’t do anything and I’m so confused,” Taemin paused to take a breath, “that I don’t understand anything. Do you even still like me?”

“I love you.”

“If you don’t, you can tell me. I make enough to afford an apartment, if you want me gone. Or if there’s someone else you want.”

His words shocked Minho into silence, his mouth half open. Taemin wasn’t looking at him, rubbing at his eyes, like either he was trying not to cry or trying to keep Minho from seeing that he was crying. Minho reached for Taemin’s hands, silently breathing out a sigh of relief when Taemin let him. He wasn’t crying yet.

Minho caught Taemin’s chin in his fingertips. “Look at me.” Taemin finally did. Minho spoke slowly, emphasizing the syllables of the next words with gentle taps to Taemin’s lips. “I love you.” He took another breath, pausing to make sure the words had registered in Taemin’s mind. “There is no one else, there never could be anybody else. I’m angry because… God, because I’m such an idiot. Because if I don’t know how to help you when you’re hurting, what good am I? I’m angry because… sometimes, when you were gone, I blamed you, and it wasn’t your fault. Nothing about what happened was your fault and I know that, but it didn’t stop me from being angry at you.”

“I thought it was because… I thought they ruined me for you. I thought you didn’t want me back after they ruined me.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Minho murmured. “I never meant to.”

“Don’t be so stupid,” Taemin said. “It’s not your job to look after me.”

On impulse, Minho caught Taemin’s lips with his, sliding his hands around to Taemin’s sides, letting his fingertips graze the bare skin beneath his shirt.

“Come here,” he said, pulling Taemin to his feet. Taemin stumbled against him, catching Minho’s shoulders to keep his balance. “What do you want me to do?”

“I just want you,” Taemin said, looking up at him. Minho kissed the tip of his nose.

“Then you’ll have me.”

Taemin was still so light Minho had no problem lifting him. He wrapped his legs around Minho’s waist, bracing his elbows on Minho’s shoulders and tugging on his hair, demanding the kiss that Minho gladly gave him.

“I missed this,” Taemin said between kisses, his lips tracing Minho’s cheeks as he walked them blindly to the bedroom. Minho nodded in agreement, pausing so Taemin could drop to the ground and then tugging both of their shirts off. The worst of the scars on Taemin’s arms had yet to heal and Minho paused to kiss them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner,” Minho whispered. He traced the pale scar along Taemin’s hairline, the one Makoto had given him. It had gone untreated too long and that scar would probably never fade completely. “I’m so sorry.”

Taemin shook his head, lying back on the bed and pulling Minho down with him. Minho gestured for Taemin to reach into the bedside table, removing the last of their clothes. Taemin gasped as Minho pressed their bodies together, wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck and pulling him in closer.

“Minho,” he breathed. “My Minho.”

He took a few seconds to appreciate Taemin’s form beneath him, the way he bent into Minho’s hands, the way he responded so naturally, so vocally, so unlike what he’d been the first time, when he’d been a stranger.

“My Taemin,” Minho whispered back, hands slipping between their bodies, fingertips sliding down Taemin’s tensed stomach. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” He cried out when Minho finally touched him, fingers sliding across Minho’s bare back. Minho watched Taemin’s eyes close with pleasure, the beautiful, gentle sigh ghosting from his lips.


	18. Chapter Fourteen

Taemin let himself into the dance studio, closing the door behind him. He slipped off his jacket and dropped it in the corner next to his bag, waiting the second while the lights brightened. The iPod dock was still where he and Luna had left it the day before and he bent, plugging in his iPod and starting it on shuffle.

He waited for the music to start up before he started his stretches, moving with the music until he heard the door open behind him. Luna put her stuff down, rolling out her shoulders before she turned to greet him.

“You’re here early.” Before Taemin could get out any words out, Luna’s face broke into a grin. “You’re smiling! This is good, right? Did you figure things out between you and Minho?”

“I think we’re going to be okay.”

“I’m so happy for you. You looked so miserable the last couple of weeks.”

Taemin shrugged. He knew Luna knew, at least in theory, most of what had happened to him while he’d ‘been away’, as they’d begun euphemistically terming it. Even so, he couldn’t tell her the extent of it. He wouldn’t have, even if he could. She didn’t need to know about the weeks of pain while his body tried to heal, the nightmares he still had, the nights he woke up grabbing for Minho to ground him.

“Don’t stop smiling,” she said quickly. “You look so handsome when you smile.”

“What, I’m not handsome when I don’t smile?”

She waved her hands, dismissing the conversation. “Someone should be here soon. She’s a friend of the family and I promised I’d give her a try as another teacher. We’ve gotten popular enough lately that I think we can afford to bring in another one. It’ll give all of us a little more time with our families.”

The music in the room stopped, having reached the end of the playlist. He leaned forward to restart it when he heard a hesitant knock on the door. Luna called for the person to enter and Taemin glanced up at the mirror.

She tucked some short-cropped hair behind her ear and smiled at Luna. Taemin folded his legs beneath him and stood, straightening his shirt as he did so. The woman was drawn to the movement and smiled shyly.

“Amber, this is Taemin, the owner of the school. Taemin, this is the woman I was telling you about.”

“Minho owns the building. I just teach here.” Taemin nodded to Amber in greeting. “Let’s see what you can do.”

After only about twenty minutes it became apparent that Amber was exactly the person they wanted, and Luna extended the offer to teach not long after that. Amber agreed immediately.

“We’ve got about half an hour before the kids start showing up,” Luna announced. “There’s a fountain just down the hall.”

Amber nodded her thanks and moved in the direction Luna indicated.

“I like her,” Taemin said.

“She needs more friends here,” Luna said. Her face was just a little bit too innocent. “We should all go out for dinner tonight, around six.”

“The three of us?”

“You five. I’ll bring Changsun and Amber.”

Taemin gave her a mistrusting look, but dug out his phone and sent the required texts. Within a few minutes, he’d gotten three responses that they were free, and then his phone rang, Minho’s picture appearing on the display.

“Hey,” Taemin said.

“Hi, honey,” Minho said. He sounded like he was shouting and there were loud explosions sounding behind him. “What time are you going to be home?”

“Probably around four. What are you _doing_ over there?”

“They’re testing some of the pyrotechnics. It takes a couple hours to set up and if something goes wrong, we’ll lose the light and have to shoot the scene tomorrow and it’ll push us behind schedule. Failing any trips to the emergency room, I’ll probably be home around then. I want to talk to you before this dinner.”

“Be careful. I’ll get home as soon as I can. We’ll both need to shower, I’m guessing?”

“I smell like smoke, explosives, and I’m covered in dirt,” Minho grumbled. Taemin smiled, picturing the disgruntled expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“Two showers. I’ll make sure there’s time.”

“I knew there was a reason I loved you,” Minho said. “Filming’s about to start up again. I’ll see you at home. Love you.”

“Love you.” He hung up his phone and turned to Luna. “Minho and I will be there too.”

“Excellent. All right, so you’re taking the first years, right? They have their show in three weeks…”

They spent the next nine hours at the dance school, moving from one class to another, Amber sometimes with him and sometimes with Luna. By three, Taemin was exhausted, scrubbing at his face with his hands during breaks. The two months had done a lot to heal him, but he hadn’t returned to the school until about three weeks earlier, and he was still trying to rebuild his stamina. It was a slow process and more often than not, he returned home angry and frustrated at his own weakness.

Luna shooed him out the door, making him swear to be at dinner at six and promising to make sure everything was picked up before she left. Taemin went willingly and Minho was already showered when he got home, sitting in his usual spot on the floor with a new section of the script open in front of him. He smiled up at Taemin.

“How was practice?”

Taemin shrugged, rolling out sore shoulders. “I’m still out of shape.”

Minho pushed himself up and gave Taemin a tight hug. “You’ll get there again.” He wrinkled his nose. “You smell.”

Taemin shoved at him playfully. “Thank you. I’ve been at a dance studio since six this morning. What do you expect?”

“Shower. We’ll talk after.”

Taemin plopped down on the couch after his shower, running his thumbs along the back of Minho’s neck and finding the usual spots of tension there. His hair dripped some water onto Minho’s shirt and his boyfriend shivered, rubbing at it absently.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

Minho tipped his head back to look up at Taemin. “I got a call from that nurse today.”

“Which nurse?” Taemin asked, suddenly wary. They had, for the second time in his life, run every test in the book on him, twice, before declaring him healthy. He’d gotten MRIs and EEGs and other letter combinations he couldn’t even remember.

“The one who said she could find out some stuff about you. She thinks she’s found something.”

Taemin looked away, sliding his hands beneath him. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Minho got up and sat on the couch next to him, tugging one of Taemin’s hands free. “Why not? We could at least find out your full name.”

“Because… Because, if _she’s_ alive, I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know her, I don’t want to find her, I don’t want to feel responsible for her. _She_ abandoned _me_!”

“Hey,” Minho said, catching his other hand. “It’s okay. We don’t have to go. I can call her and say all we need is the legal stuff.”

Taemin knew Minho wanted to know. It was the last mystery about Taemin’s life and once they knew that, he was free. He could start over completely with his real name, rather than borrowing Kibum’s. He groaned.

“Fine, call her, but if we find anything out about that woman, I don’t care. I’m not doing anything for her.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Good.”

Taemin squeezed his eyes shut. Part of him did want to know who he was supposed to be, or who he could have been if things had turned out differently, but he was scared. He didn’t know what he was afraid of, but a thousand things could go so wrong if he knew.

“Taeminnie, you know you don’t _have_ to do this. If you want, I can go and find out exactly what you want to know and then leave. We don’t even have to do anything.”

“No, you’re right. I need to find out. It’s… It’s fine.”

Minho kissed him, gently at first and then gradually more deeply, tugging Taemin into his lap. Taemin let him, adjusting himself until he was facing Minho, tangling his fingers into Minho’s damp hair.

He pulled back to make a protest, doubtless about Taemin messing up his hair, but Taemin didn’t let him, tightening his grip on Minho’s hair until he hissed, leaning up to grant the kiss Taemin was demanding. Taemin smiled against his boyfriend’s mouth. Things were right again, or they were near enough that he could forgive the parts that weren’t, especially with the way Minho’s breath was gusting along his neck, his lips tracing the bands of muscles there.

“If we don’t stop, we’re going to be late,” Minho whispered into his skin.

“So?”

“Is this really the impression you want to make on this girl you just hired? Sorry I was late, I was having sex.”

Taemin laughed softly, slipping off Minho’s lap and curling up against his side. “‘Sorry, Amber. I was having sex _with my boyfriend_. Here he is. By the way, I’m a prostitute.’ Luna would drown me in the river.”

“ _Was_ a prostitute,” Minho corrected, voice sharp. His hand tightened on Taemin’s shoulder.

“Was a prostitute. And an addict.”

“Taemin, would you stop?”

“Why?” Taemin countered, feeling suddenly spiteful, folding his arms over his chest and dislodging Minho’s arm from his shoulders. “It’s true.”

Minho groaned and leaned forward, putting his face in his hands. “Because it’s not your defining characteristic. Fuck, it’s… I don’t even know how to deal with you like this.”

Well, that was unfair. Taemin stood up, walking pointedly to the chair on the other side of the room before he spoke.

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Taemin knew he was trying to sort himself out before he answered, but he wasn’t going to give Minho the time.

“Like a spoiled whore?”

“God, Taemin, you know I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s just go. If we don’t leave soon we’re going to be late anyway.”

The car ride to the restaurant was awkward and silent. Minho kept his eyes on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Taemin wasn’t going to be the one to apologize, because it really wasn’t his fault. Minho wasn’t willing to accept the fact that Taemin was a whore and an addict and generally useless in anything unless it was dancing, which he hadn’t even been that good at lately, and sex, which wasn’t useful if he wasn’t making money off it.

They turned into the restaurant and passed the keys off to a valet at the same time that Jonghyun, Kibum, and Jinki were climbing out of Jinki’s car. Jonghyun went to greet them, but the words faded from his lips before he could begin to form them.

“Hey, Jjong, why don’t you take Jinki and Minho inside and see if you can find Luna?” Kibum suggested a little too casually. “I want to talk to Taemin for a few seconds.”

When the others stepped inside the door, Kibum put an arm around Taemin’s shoulders and drew him to the corner of the building, away from where people could overhear.

“Are things still bad between you guys?” he asked.

“They were better. We had a huge argument last night and then…” Taemin shrugged. “It was better.”

“An argument is better than what you were doing before. What happened this time?”

“I called myself a prostitute.” Kibum just sighed. “And an addict. And a spoiled whore.”

“ _Taeminnie_ ,” Kibum breathed, reaching out to cup the back of Taemin’s head. He curled his fingers in Taemin’s hair. “You know how he hates that.”

“I know,” Taemin said, crossing his arms and avoiding Kibum’s gaze. “It’s just… It’s what I am.”

“Am I a whore?” Kibum asked.

“No!”

“Then why are you? Tell me the defining difference that makes me not a prostitute, a whore, but makes you one.”

Taemin shifted uncomfortably, his hand coming up to rub at the scar along his hairline. He hated it. It was another one of Makoto’s brands that would never go away. He could do whatever he wanted to his hair, dye it or cut it or grow it out, but sometimes he looked in the mirror and all he could see was the stupid scar and suddenly he was eighteen again. It was the same as the scars on his arms that would never go away, even if Minho insisted he could only see a few of them. Makoto was dead and he still wouldn’t let him go, Taemin couldn’t stop dreaming about Makoto throwing him to the floor, choking him, beating him until he gave in.

Kibum made a soft, sad sound. He pulled Taemin in for a hug. “If there was some way to take those two weeks from you, I would do it. You can’t even see how bad they messed you up, can you?”

“Please let me go,” Taemin pled, feeling tears in his eyes again. He hated how much he cried. He felt so weak and useless. “Kibum, please.”

He did, dropping his hands back down to his side, but Key only took a small step back. Taemin thought if he took a step, he might lose control and actually cry. It would break Minho’s heart if he thought Taemin cried because of him.

“Taeminnie, I need you to do me a favor, okay?” Kibum asked. “I want you to try to believe Minho when he says the good things about you. When he says, I don’t know, how wonderful you are or how bright you look when you smile, I want you to believe him. When you go home tonight, I want you to ask him to tell you what he loves about you and you need to believe him.”

“What’s the point in that?”

“I know you, maybe even a little better than he does. I can see how much you hurt, even if you don’t realize it. We can’t afford to lose you.”

Taemin didn’t say anything, tightening his arms around himself. Kibum’s lips twisted, but he let it go.

“All right, let’s go inside. It’s chilly out here.”

He put his arm around Taemin’s shoulders again, and Taemin let him, taking some small comfort in the contact. They found the table with very little difficulty, due to the number of towels thrown down on the table and floor from where someone, presumably Jinki, had managed to knock down most of the drinks at the table.

Taemin took his seat between Kibum and Minho, providing a weak smile for Luna and Amber. He was silent for most of the meal, and he knew he was poor company, but his stomach was twisting. A time or two, Minho reached to take his hand beneath the table, but Minho retracted his hand before their fingers touched.

He was glad to see that he didn’t seem to ruin the dinner for Amber, who opened up not long after the first course was served, teasing Jonghyun with as much comfort as everyone else. He knew Minho tried, but as the night progressed, he quieted as well. At last he stood and made an uncomfortable bow.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well. Taemin, are you okay if we go?” When Taemin hesitated, more shocked by the sudden announcement than anything, Minho added. “I’m sure Jinki can drive you home, if you want to stay.”

Taemin stood as well. “No, let’s go.”

Minho looked surprised at that but let Taemin lead the way out of the restaurant, one hand resting at the small of his back. It was the first time since their fight earlier that day that Minho had actually touched him, and Taemin wasn’t going to stop him.


	19. Chapter Fifteen

Minho finally unlocked the door to their house, stepping aside so Taemin could walk through first. He expected Taemin to go either straight to their room or the couch, so he was a little surprised when Taemin waited in the hallway.

“Minho?” Taemin sounded so hesitant it made Minho’s heart ache.

“Yes?”

“Can-can we just go to bed now?”

It was only just past eight, but Minho nodded, slipping his jacket off and putting both his and Taemin’s in the closet. Taemin was already changed and lying on his back in bed when Minho entered. He took his time changing, sliding into bed beside him. He didn’t touch him for a second, uncertain if he was allowed to, but Taemin rolled over into his arms, burying his face against Minho’s neck.

“Please forgive me,” Taemin gasped, and Minho realized he was crying.

“Forgive you for what? Baby, it’s okay. I understand.”

Taemin crying was generally the most horrifying moment of Minho’s life. He never knew quite what to do, if he was supposed to try to comfort him or ignore him or something else entirely. This time at least, Taemin made it obvious he wanted the comfort, burrowing himself closer to Minho as though if he could get close enough, Minho would be able to protect him from whatever was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Minho breathed. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you. Honey, _please_ stop crying. You know I never know what I’m supposed to do when you cry. I love you. It’s okay.”

He was still crying, his entire frame shaking with his sobs. “K-Kibum says I’m m-messed up. Th-that I’m b-br-broken. Am I?”

“He didn’t mean it like that,” Minho protested, smoothing Taemin’s hair back from his face until the younger man looked up at him, tears staining his eyes. “It takes time to recover from… from what happened to you.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Taemin whimpered. “I-I’ll try harder. I’ll g-get better faster. J-just don’t l-l-leave me.”

“I won’t. Taemin, I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m not going to leave you, baby. I love you. You have nothing to be scared of.”

“It’s j-just that… I don’t get wh-why you’d stay. Ki-Kibum’s right. I’m n-nothing--”

Minho stopped him, rolling them over so Taemin was on his back and Minho could look down at his face. “Stop. Taemin, _do not_ say things like that, am I clear?” Taemin flinched back into the pillows and Minho ran his hand over his face. “I am going to kill that idiot,” he said. “You are precious. You are wonderful and do you think I would love you as much as I do if you were nothing? If you were unimportant, if you didn’t matter, do you think I would have fought as hard as I fucking did to get you back?”

Taemin tried to curl away from him, to hide his face from Minho’s eyes, but Minho refused to let him.

“I’m just a prostitute,” Taemin whispered. “Please, I’m just a stupid whore who couldn’t manage to die when he wanted to and then almost did it by accident.”

“Taemin,” Minho said desperately. “I don’t understand. You were fine just a few days ago. Is this because of your mother? We don’t have to find anything out. I’m sorry I brought it up. I shouldn’t have pushed. I’ll tell the nurse we don’t want to know. I’ll get the information we need and we can forget about it.”

“I hate her,” Taemin said. “I hate her so much. How could she abandon me like that?”

Minho didn’t know what to say, but Taemin continued, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m a horrible son. I should be looking for her. I should want to take care of her, but I can’t. I was _five years old_. I didn’t even know how to take care of myself. I still can’t take care of myself.”

“Taemin, you are not a horrible son. She had responsibilities. She’s supposed to take care of you before you take care of her. That’s how it works.”

“I hate her.”

“You can hate her, but don’t hate yourself because of what she did to you.”

The words didn’t seem to help. Taemin had stopped crying, but he was just lying there, his eyes still shut. Minho leaned down and kissed Taemin’s cheeks, tasting tears on his lips. One of Taemin’s hands wrapped around Minho’s wrist, holding him there.

“Baby, what do you need me to do?” Minho pled. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it. It kills me to see you like this.”

“Kibum told me to… Why do you love me?” Taemin asked at last, his eyes opening and staring up at Minho in the darkened room.

For a second, it was like he was back the first time he met Taemin, the moonlight streaming in through the windows and glistening off his skin, his eyes wide in the darkness. Except, back then, Minho had been torn, uncertain what he was doing, why he was doing it, why he had gone to a prostitute that some people had promised him was worth the money. Taemin had been confident, had known exactly what to do. This time, Taemin looked so lost and confused, the way he had when Minho had first told him he loved him.

“Kibum and I are going to have a talk and then I’m going to kill him,” Minho grumbled, but he sat up, pulling Taemin with him until they were curled up against the head of the bed, Taemin’s head in Minho’s lap. “Are you comfortable?”

Taemin nodded, rolling onto his back so he could look up at Minho’s face. “Yes.”

“Good, because this could take a while.”

Taemin laughed weakly, which was enough for Minho.

“All right,” Minho said, trailing his fingers through Taemin’s hair. They had dyed it black not long after the withdrawals had faded and he could see the faint difference between dye and natural color at Taemin’s roots.

“Why do I love you? I love you because sometimes I’m shallow and you’re beautiful. I love you because sometimes when you’re just sitting there, you have this expression on your face that looks so deep in thought that I’m afraid you might never come back. I love you because when you dance, you look like you should never do anything else.

“You put up with me, you put up with my hours, and you never complain. You let me hug you and kiss you whenever I feel like it, and I know I’m the luckiest man alive when you put your arms around me when we sleep. You’re an atrocious cook, but you always try so hard…”

Minho talked until Taemin’s eyes closed, and then a little longer.

When he woke up the next morning, Taemin had propped himself up on an elbow and was watching Minho sleep. He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You fell asleep sitting up,” Taemin observed. His voice was a little shy, as though they were new to each other and hadn’t been together for half a decade.

“You were comfortable,” Minho said.

“Get on the floor,” Taemin ordered suddenly, standing up. Minho raised his eyebrows, giving him a doubtful look. “I can’t give you a proper massage on the bed. It’s too soft.”

“You don’t have to--”

“Choi Minho, on the floor.”

“Yes, sir,” Minho snorted, standing and stretching, hissing when his neck twinged. “I’m getting too old for this.”

When they were settled on the floor, Taemin’s fingers hunting out the largest of the knots in Minho’s neck, he finally asked, “Did you call her?”

“Who?”

“The nurse.”

“Taemin, I just got up,” Minho said. “You may remember this is the furthest we’ve gotten.”

Taemin pressed his lips to the back of Minho’s neck, where he’d been working out a knot. “Your neck’s all red, sorry. Is that better?”

He stretched his neck experimentally. “It is.”

“Good,” Taemin said, and he laid down on top of Minho, trapping him on his stomach, letting his arms slide over Minho’s shoulders and his elbows rest on the floor. Minho let out a grunt to let Taemin know he was being squished, but fell silent. Taemin buried his nose in Minho’s dark hair and lay there for a while.

Minho had almost drifted back to sleep despite the weight on his back when he felt Taemin draw in a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Everything. I’ve been so rotten the last, god, the last four months. First I was just miserable, then I ran off and ended up spending a week in the hospital and you had to deal with withdrawals again. And I just haven’t… I’ve been a terrible boyfriend. I’ve been a terrible person.”

Minho reached to catch one of Taemin’s hands and weave their fingers together.

“I’ve worked twenty-hour days for months on end and you’ve brought me meals on set, made sure I had food when I got home. You never complain when I’m off to a dozen other places and all I bring you back are stupid little jars of sand or painted seashells. You are not a terrible anything.”

Taemin huffed. “Just accept my apology so we can move on, okay?”

“Okay,” Minho agreed, smiling into Taemin’s forearm. “I forgive you. Now, do you think you could get off? I think you’re compressing my lungs. I need them.”

“For what?” Taemin asked, but he stood up anyway, offering a hand to pull Minho to his feet. “You sit on your butt and tell other people to do things.”

“Watch yourself,” Minho warned, but he slid his arm around Taemin’s waist and pulled him in. “Do you want me to call the nurse today?” Taemin nodded. “Okay, you go brush your teeth, because your breath is atrocious, and I’ll see if I can set up a meeting.”

“Your breath is no better,” Taemin protested, but he extricated himself and moved toward the bathroom.

A week later, the earliest she could get free to meet, Taemin and Minho were walking to a small cafe just down the street from where they parked. They were just passing the main window at Insomnia when Taemin tugged at Minho’s arm, pointing through the window.

“Minho, is that…?”

Minho looked where he was pointing. It took him a second to figure out what it was, but when he did, he stopped dead in the sidewalk, jerking Taemin to a halt. Jonghyun was sitting at the table, a girl across from him. His hand was outstretched, palm up on the table, and the girl’s hand was resting comfortably in it.

He had seen Jonghyun on any number of dates, but he’d never brought one of them to Insomnia. Jonghyun was smiling at this girl, his head half-turned away. Minho had also never seen that. Jonghyun was always a straightforward flirt. He knew what he wanted and he knew how to get it.

“I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone,” Minho grumbled.

Taemin was shaking his head, pointing again. “I think this is new.”

The girl had tossed her head at something Jonghyun said and Minho finally got a clear look at her face. Amber.

“I… did not expect that,” Minho remarked.

Jonghyun got up and kissed Amber on the cheek, holding out his hand for her. They were out the door before either Taemin or Minho could think of moving.

Jonghyun stopped short, staring at the two of them, his mouth open to say something that never came. Amber looked terrified.

“Taemin! I… Um…”

“We just… uh… bumped into each other here?” Jonghyun offered.

“You’re a really bad liar,” Minho informed him, looking at their joined hands.

“I didn’t want this to become an issue,” Amber said. “I mean, you and Luna just hired me and if it doesn’t work out for some reason, I just… I didn’t want you to feel like you had to keep me on because Jonghyun and I…”

“Jonghyun needs a firm hand, but I think you can handle him,” Taemin interrupted.

“Excuse--”

“He also needs someone to take care of him. Luna and I don’t get any say in who you date. Don’t worry about us. But you,” Taemin turned to Jonghyun. “She hasn’t got any family here, so if you do anything to her…”

Minho laughed at the aghast expression on Jonghyun’s face. Even Amber was giggling, pressing her hand to her mouth to try to stifle the sound.

“I’m not going to hurt her!” Jonghyun protested when he got his voice back. He shrugged. “She could probably take me anyway.”

“Damn right I could,” Amber said, “but I really do have to change if we’re still going out for dinner tonight. I can’t go out looking like this.”

“I think you look just fine,” Jonghyun said. There was some sort of worshipful puppy expression on his face that Minho had definitely never seen before.

“Get out of here,” Minho said, shoving Jonghyun away. “You’re sickening.”

“Says you,” Jonghyun countered. “Can you even go without touching him or calling him one of your six billion pet names for fifteen seconds?”

Minho grinned over at Taemin, slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him in tight. “The best thing is, I don’t have to.”

“ _You’re_ sickening.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Amber said, pushing against Jonghyun’s shoulder. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Of course you do,” Jonghyun protested. “You haven’t seen them making out like teenagers on the couch that you have to sit on.”

“We do not make out like teenagers--” Minho began.

“You don’t have to sit there,” Taemin said at the same time.

Amber laughed, taking Jonghyun’s hand again. “We really do need to leave.”

“We do too,” Minho said, glancing down at his watch. “We’re going to be late.”


	20. Chapter Sixteen

Jonghyun and Amber had been a sufficient distraction to ease the nerves that had been wrenching Taemin’s stomach back and forth for the last three days, but as soon as Minho turned to keep walking in the direction of the stupid cafe, it started up again. He knew Minho was dying to find out whatever he could about Taemin’s family, but Taemin didn’t care. No, Taemin cared. He cared so much he was shaking with fear.

If his mother was still alive… He hated her. He hated her more than he’d hated any other person. If she hadn’t abandoned him, _none_ of the things that had gone wrong in his life would have happened. The only person he may have hated more was Makoto, but if his mother hadn’t abandoned him, he wouldn’t have had to go to Makoto when he asked if Taemin would provide “entertainment” for a few guests. He wanted to leave her out on the streets to die. He knew he couldn’t. If the hospital had records of her still being alive, he would have to try to find her.

His hatred wasn’t enough to overcome the knowledge that he did have a responsibility as a son. She may have failed as a mother, but he still owed her his life and, indirectly, he owed her Minho.

Taemin didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until he felt Minho’s fingertips on his face.

“Baby?”

Taemin squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

He was moving, Minho gathering him into his arms, leading him slightly to one side. Through sheer force of habit, he found his face pressed against Minho’s warm, and safe, neck.

“You’re going to be okay. All she’s giving us are words. We don’t even have to do anything with them.” Taemin couldn’t bring himself to respond. “We can stay here as long as you need.”

An embarrassingly long time later, Taemin finally nodded, stepping away. They were nearly to the café, but Minho took his hand anyway, leading him inside. A woman sitting alone at a table just inside the door stood up when they entered.

“Taemin? You’re looking better.” Taemin jumped a little, surprised both by her familiarity and the suddenness with which she spoke. She smiled gently and Taemin felt a little better. “I’m Park Myunghee. From the hospital.”

Minho greeted her politely, leaving Taemin to stutter his way through his greeting. There was a single manila folder lying in the center of the table with Taemin’s name written on it. It took him a second to realize that his full name was written there.

“Lee Taemin?” he asked, feeling a strange flutter in his chest. It wasn’t recognition. He wasn’t going to pretend anything in him felt more affinity to Lee than it had to Kim, which was what he usually used whenever he felt he needed a full name.

Myunghee nodded. “It’s the name you were registered with, yes. Would you like me to go through the rest of it with you?”

Minho took Taemin’s hand beneath the table, running his thumb over Taemin’s knuckles. Taemin nodded, feeling only a little braver at Minho’s touch. She opened the folder and pulled out two sheets of paper. For a complete history of his life, it was rather pathetic. “You were right. You were born in July of 1993, on the eighteenth. We have no record of your father’s name and your mother appears on our records twice more.”

Taemin inhaled sharply at the mention of his mother, his stomach twisting again. Minho reached up and stroked Taemin’s arm. “What does that mean?” Taemin asked.

She pulled out two more half-sheets of paper. “The next time she appeared in our records was August of 1998. She was admitted to the hospital to give birth. She had a son, who has since been adopted by an American family. If you wish, I can get you his contact information.”

“I have a brother?”

“Probably a half-brother,” Myunghee corrected, “but yes. He contacted the adoption agency not too long ago, looking for any family members he may have, but aside from knowledge that one existed, they were obviously unable to find you. I think, if you were to try to contact him, you would be welcome. All of his available information is on this sheet.”

She slid the piece of paper in his direction and after a moment of hesitation, Taemin picked it up. “He wasn’t given a name until after his adoption, but his family named him Jason.”

The paper held a grainy, faxed, black and white picture of a boy about nineteen. He was smiling a little uncomfortably, as though the picture had been taken in an incredibly artificial setting. Taemin heard Minho breathe in sharply beside him.

“What?” he asked, giving him a sideways look.

“He looks so much like you.”

Taemin looked at the photograph again. He could see faint resemblances, but when he’d been nineteen he’d weighed half of what it looked Jason did. His brother was muscular, a note in his biography read that he had been a football player in high school. Truthfully, the only times of his nineteenth year he made any effort to remember were when Minho was there. It hurt, a little, to think that he could have a normal life, if only his mother had put _him_ up for adoption, instead of keeping him.

He put the piece of paper down, feeling Minho’s hand curl around his beneath the table. “And my mother?”

This time, the paper was a copy of a certificate of death, dated only a few weeks after Jason’s birth.

“I wasn’t able to get the official cause of death,” Myunghee said, pity clear in her eyes, “but from what I gather it was complications from the pregnancy.”

The air whooshed from Taemin’s lungs. He rocked back in his chair and stared at the sheet without really seeing the words.

“She’s dead?” he asked.

“I’m sorry.”

“Baby, are you okay?”

Taemin couldn’t answer. She was dead. He should have felt sad, or upset, or something, but there was nothing. He supposed it would come later when his mind had time to invent, or possibly remember, at least one good moment they’d had together. There weren’t many to choose from, honestly.

He could feel Minho looking at him, rubbing gentle circles on the base of his neck. “Taemin? Honey?”

“I want to go home.”

“We’ll go home.”

Taemin only vaguely remembered bidding Myunghee goodbye, Minho collecting the papers and the number they would need to call if he was interested in contacting Jason. Then he felt Minho’s arm around him and they were walking.

As soon as Minho sat him in the car, he tucked his knees up beneath his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs. Minho climbed into the driver’s seat and sat there for a few seconds, staring out the windshield.

“Minho?”

He looked over at Taemin, reaching out to stroke his hair. “Yeah?”

“I’m a mess,” Taemin confessed. “Look at me. I’m a wreck, I’m a… a _former_ prostitute and an addict and… I didn’t learn to read until I was nineteen. He’s probably got a nice girlfriend and a family and going to university to be a-a lawyer or something and… Why would he even want to see me?”

“Because you’re his brother,” Minho said, letting his hand drop to rest against Taemin’s neck. Taemin raised his shoulder slightly, trapping his hand there and drawing some meager comfort from it.

“I always used to imagine, you know, when I was a kid, before I figured out it was stupid, that someday somebody would find me on the streets and tell me that I was kidnapped or mixed up at birth and my real parents wanted me back. A mother and a father and,” Taemin laughed bitterly, “I always had a brother, an older brother, who would just…”

“Would just what?” Minho asked. Taemin couldn’t even look at him. He was too kind and too patient and it was so frustrating.

“He would just be a big brother. I don’t know. He’d tease me and get annoyed at me, but he’d be _my_ brother. He’d be the one thing in my life that wouldn’t be anyone else’s and he’d teach me stupid things like how to forge our parents’ signatures and the best way to flirt with girls, this was obviously before I figured out I liked guys, and… I don’t know. I gave him a thousand names over the years and I don’t even know any of them anymore. I never imagined having a little brother. What do I even have to offer him?”

Minho lifted Taemin’s hand, twining their fingers together. Taemin took a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t going to start crying before he looked over at him.

“I’m sorry that couldn’t have been real. I’m so sorry.”

At that, Taemin did have to scrub at his eyes with his free hand, laughing bitterly. “I don’t think I’ve made it through a day without crying for weeks now.”

“The doctors said that’s not unusual, remember? You went through a lot, my love. You’re starting to feel safe again. It’s good. It’ll go away soon.”

“I shouldn’t contact him, should I? I should just… He’ll forget eventually. I can’t…”

“Taemin, look at me. Why do you think that you have nothing to offer?”

“Aren’t big brothers supposed to teach their little brothers things? I can teach him how to prepare heroin or how to how to give a blowjob. I can teach him how to ignore how much it _hurts_ when--” Taemin caught the look on Minho’s face and stopped talking, pressing his hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“He’s nineteen. He doesn’t need teaching. He wants his family.” Minho shrugged and started the car, pulling out onto the road. “You don’t have to contact him today. You don’t even have to contact him ever, but think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Taemin stayed quiet the rest of the drive home, watching his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. As ridiculous as it was, he loved watching Minho drive. Really, he loved watching Minho do most anything. Taemin never found anything peaceful anymore, loud noises scared him worse than they ever had, he still sometimes ached and burned for drugs he couldn’t have.

When Minho finally parked the car, he turned to Taemin with a faint smile. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, I just love you.”

Minho leaned over and kissed him. “Let’s get you into the house and I’ll see what we have to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“The doctors said you need to keep eating. You’re still underweight--”

Taemin got out of the car, slamming the door against Minho’s words. He saw Minho’s shoulders heave with a sigh, and then heard him follow. He didn’t say anything while he unlocked the door and let Taemin into the house.

“I’m just not hungry,” Taemin said, feeling a little guilty when he saw the expression on Minho’s face. “It’s nothing to do with anything.”

“Okay.”

“Minho, please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

Minho sat at the kitchen table and held out his hands for Taemin. Instead of sitting in the chair across from him and taking his hands, Taemin sat on his lap, putting an arm around Minho’s neck.

“I promise, Minho, I’m just not hungry.”

“You were just telling me a few days ago how much you hated being so weak. You need to keep eating or you’re not going to be able to catch up.”

Taemin sighed. “I know. I’ll eat, just not now.”

“All right.” Neither man moved, Taemin comfortable with his face buried against Minho’s neck, hearing the whoosh of his breath. After a few minutes of silence, he heard a change in Minho’s breathing right before he spoke. “Are you really okay? About your mother?”

Taemin shrugged, pulling away a little and looking down at his knees. “I never really knew her, you know? She must have left when she got pregnant with… my brother. It makes sense. We starved all the time. She couldn’t have afforded both of us.”

“You’re lying.”

“Avoiding. I really… I don’t know.”

Minho nodded. “I’ll stop asking. If you need anything, you know I’m here.”

Taemin kissed him, trailing his fingers through Minho’s hair. “I know.”


	21. Interlude Five

Minho woke up a few days later to find Taemin still in bed. He rolled over and glanced at his phone, nudging Taemin with his knee while he did so.

“What?” Taemin grumbled, looking up at him through his hair.

“You’re late.”

Taemin huffed and dropped his head back to Minho’s chest hard enough to make him grunt. “Am not.”

“It’s eight.”

“Texted Luna. Not late. Shut up and go back to sleep.”

“You took the day off?”

“Does ‘shut up and go back to sleep’ mean something different in Minho than it does in everyone else’s language?” Taemin demanded. “It’s your only day off in three weeks. Of course I took it off. Luna and Amber can handle the kids for a while… You’re not going back to sleep, are you?”

Minho shook his head. “I wasn’t really planning on it, no.”

“When what were you planning on doing?”

“Well,” Minho said, fighting to keep a smile off his face, “I considered getting up and reading some more of those filmmaking novels you hate, or maybe watching some of the American and British soap operas to practice my English. I could clean the bathroom, maybe.”

“That’s it,” Taemin said, starting to push himself up. “I’m going to work.”

Minho caught him around the waist and pulled him back, tumbling Taemin on top of him. “Or I could just stay here for a little while. I’m fine with that.”

Taemin’s face was only a few centimeters away from his, his lips parted in a silent, surprised gasp. Minho did what any self-respecting man would have done in his position, with such a beautiful man lying on top of him. He leaned up and kissed him, reveling in the small noise that escaped Taemin’s throat.

He knotted his fingers in Taemin’s hair, letting his thumb drag across Taemin’s cheek. The younger man tilted his head, reaching for more pressure from Minho’s hand. Taemin, true to the last four years of their life together, reached immediately for the waistband of Minho’s pants, his fingers barely skimming Minho’s skin.

“I was also thinking,” Minho began slowly, catching Taemin’s arm and drawing his hand back up, pressing the smooth skin of Taemin’s wrist to his lips, “about seeing if I could undress you without using my hands at all, possibly seeing how long it takes you to start begging. I have all sorts of ideas.”

Taemin’s head lifted, his eyes going wide for a second. Then he smirked, flashing a teasing smile. He lowered his mouth to the hollow of Minho’s throat and Minho had never been so glad to not wear a shirt to bed in his life as the man he loved continued kissing further down his chest.

“Why don’t you tell me about them?” Taemin asked.

Minho grinned. He wrapped his arms around Taemin’s thin-- _too thin_ \--body, and pulled him flush against him. “No. I think I’d rather just cuddle.”

His boyfriend groaned, raising his head far enough to drop it back down on Minho’s shoulder. “I hate you.”

“You adore me,” Minho corrected. His hand ran idly up and down Taemin’s back, enjoying the subtle shift of lean muscles beneath skin. He felt the warm brush of Taemin’s breath as he sighed contentedly, reaching behind him to find the blankets they’d abandoned and yank them up.

“Go back to sleep,” Taemin mumbled, yawning, sliding his arm back across Minho’s chest.

“I really do have to clean the bathroom.”

Taemin lay still for a moment and then reached behind him for something. Minho figured out what it was when a pillow smacked him in the face. “Shut up and go to sleep or I’m suffocating you.”

Minho laughed quietly, pushing the pillow aside and letting his eyes drift closed.

“I love you, Minho.”

Minho tilted his head and managed to kiss Taemin’s cheekbone. “I love you too. Goodnight, baby.”

He mumbled something that might have been a ‘goodnight’ back and burrowed deeper into Minho’s arms. As Taemin’s breathing evened out, Minho began drifting back to sleep, one hand on Taemin’s hip, just barely beneath the fabric of his pants, and his other still tracing the sinuous length of his boyfriend’s spine.

\--Interlude 5.5--

Taemin woke later that day to the feeling of fingertips rubbing soft circles into the dip at the front of his hipbone. Minho was kissing the side of his neck, sucking at the soft skin beneath Taemin’s ear. Without saying anything, he shifted slightly back, pressing against Minho, drawing a soft gasp from the man behind him.

“You little brat,” Minho said, lifting his lips from Taemin’s skin. “How long have you been awake?”

He rolled over into Minho’s arms, lifting his gaze until he could see into Minho’s eyes. “Just now, but you were in the middle of something so, please, don’t let me interrupt.”

Minho laughed and leaned in to kiss him. Taemin parted his lips immediately, feeling warmth spark through him at the first brush of their tongues. It was glorious, the way Minho kissed. He always seemed determined to kiss Taemin into a puddle, and he mostly succeeded.

Taemin slid his knee between Minho’s thighs, leaning in to deepen the kiss. Minho made a beautiful sound deep in his throat, a hand running from the top of Taemin’s spine to his lower back and then pulling him in closer.

“Is there something you want?” Taemin teased when Minho pulled away for air.

Minho’s hand slipped between their bodies, rubbing Taemin through his sleeping pants. Taemin drew in a deep breath, his eyes closing. Minho kissed down his neck and across his chest.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Minho whispered between kisses, rolling them over until he was lying on top. “I love you so much, baby.”

Taemin couldn’t do anything but whimper in response, the sound of Minho’s deep voice combined with the gentle press of his hand sending shudders through Taemin’s entire body. Minho’s lips moved further down his torso, lips tracing the lines of rib and muscle. He wasn’t sure what Minho was planning, but when he felt the first scrape of teeth on his hip, he decided he didn’t really care as long as he kept doing it.

He must have felt something in Taemin’s body because he looked up, a wicked grin on his lips. “I said I wasn’t going to use my hands.”

He had to say, Minho was always up to tackling a challenge, even if it was undressing his pliant boyfriend with his teeth. It was a bit of a process, pulling his pants down over Taemin’s hips, and Taemin was getting impatient.

“Minho, hurry _up_ ,” Taemin growled, reaching for the waistband of his pants. Minho caught his hand absently, holding him back. He nipped at Taemin’s inner thigh as a reprimand. Taemin cried out, his hand clenching around Minho’s fingers. Minho kissed the spot gently, running his tongue over it.

“You okay?”

Taemin nodded, his breath rushing between his teeth. Minho was finally tugging his pants down over his ankles leaving Taemin bare and half ready to throw Minho to the bed and just take what he wanted, if he could just overpower Minho. Fortunately, Minho finally seemed just as impatient as him, and he pulled his own clothes off and slid back up onto the bed.

Minho gestured to the bedside table, his lips back to the dip at the base of Taemin’s throat. It took Taemin a few seconds to even understand what Minho wanted. He was too distracted by the way Minho’s tongue and teeth were painting dark marks along his neck. Minho was bracing himself up on one hand, his other hand rubbing small circles at the base of Taemin’s stomach, fingers just centimeters from where Taemin wanted them.

Taemin reached for the lube in the bedside table, and just as his fingers closed around the container, he felt Minho’s hand wrap around him. His hand clenched in surprise and he nearly dropped it to the floor, but he managed to toss it on the bed at his boyfriend’s knee.

“Minho, fuck.”

Minho smiled, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Taemin whispered, trailing his fingers through Minho’s hair.

After so long, Minho had learned all of Taemin’s buttons, the ones that left him breathless with want. He pressed all of them now, trailing kisses from his forehead all the way down his stomach, gentle drags of his teeth in place of bites. He splayed his hands wide across Taemin’s chest, the warmth and love seeping into his bones.

Minho’s fingers tweaked Taemin’s nipple. He whimpered and Minho covered his mouth with his own, kissing him as his thumbs massaged Taemin’s nipples. He kissed down to the sensitive spot on the inside of his hip.

“Minho.”

“Hhm?”

“Please.”

Minho kissed him again, then pulled back to spread lube on his fingers. He slipped his fingers inside and Taemin’s back arched. He whimpered as Minho stretched him, writhing against his fingers.

“You okay, baby?” Minho whispered, his lips right beside Taemin’s ear. Taemin nodded, hands clenching on his boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“So beautiful,” Minho repeated, pulling away.

He pulled his fingers out and paused for just a moment to prepare himself. Taemin sat forward and pulled the lube from his hands, pouring it on his own instead. He took Minho in his hands and stroked him a few times, coating him thoroughly and reveling in the deep moans that reverberated from the older man’s throat.

Once he’d decided Minho was ready, he leaned back, spreading his legs for Minho to settle between them. Minho moved into position, the head of his cock pressing against Taemin, but he hesitated, looking up to meet Taemin’s eyes. His face was flushed, his eyes darker than usual.

“Are you ready?”

Taemin nodded, taking one of Minho’s hands in his own. “Please.”

The word died in his throat when Minho began to push into him, so slowly Taemin thought he was going to cry. He was always slow and careful, slower than he had to be, honestly. It was sweet, but sometimes so frustrating that Taemin wanted to hit him. Except it was so worth it when Minho was finally all the way in, his face buried in Taemin’s neck as he gasped for air, exactly the way he was now.

Taemin knew he was waiting for him to make the first move, to show him that he was ready and okay. He shifted slightly, drawing a beautiful moan from Minho’s lips, and wrapped his legs around Minho’s back. Minho took that as the permission it was and began to move, sucking at the spot on Taemin’s neck that would already sport a dark mark, but, really, Minho could write his own name on Taemin’s neck if he wanted for all Taemin cared.

Minho kissed his way to Taemin’s lips and caught them. Their fingers were still intertwined above Taemin’s head, Taemin’s free hand pressing low on Minho’s back, feeling his muscles shifting beneath his skin.

He could have been happy like that, just feeling Minho deep inside him, but Minho shifted a few times and Taemin knew what he was doing, but it still surprised him when he felt the bone-numbing jolt of pleasure and pure ecstasy slam into him. His hand clenched reflexively and he felt his fingers scrape along Minho’s back. He thought he may have even broken the skin, but Minho’s hiss didn’t sound as pained as it sounded thoroughly pleased.

“Minho, Minho, please,” Taemin pled. There were men that needed to hear their lover beg, and Taemin knew how to identify them, but this wasn’t acting. This was Taemin honestly, truly _needing_ and if Minho liked to know that he could break Taemin apart in all the best ways, it was just a bonus.

“What do you want, baby?” Minho asked. His voice was deep and rough and that made Taemin’s heart beat even faster. Taemin had, at some point, released his hand and Minho ran his fingers down Taemin’s cheek. “What do you need, my love?”

“I need--” Taemin had to stop talking, one hand fisting in the blanket and the other in Minho’s hair, dragging him down for another deep kiss. He was panting, whimpering, when they broke apart. “Please, Minho!”

The grin Minho sent his way was completely dangerous for Taemin’s health. His heart was already beating too fast and this was not helping. When Minho reached down to take Taemin in hand, he felt prickles of sweat break out all over his already too-hot body.

“Is this what you needed?” Minho asked, his tongue darting out to trace the outer edge of Taemin’s ear. Taemin could do nothing but nod, swallowing repeatedly to get some moisture back in his mouth so he could speak.

Taemin hated that the closer he came to the edge, the more his moans vanished behind needy whimpers and whines, while Minho’s voice got even deeper. Minho loved it.

Minho breathed out Taemin’s name, and Taemin could feel him beginning to lose his rhythm, which was more than fine, because with every movement and every brush of his thumb over the head of Taemin’s cock, he was rapidly losing control himself.

“M-Minho,” Taemin gasped, his back arching and eyes closing. “I’m-- _Ah!_ ”

He didn’t even have a chance to finish the sentence before his orgasm slammed into him, turning his vision white and sending sparks like electricity through every centimeter of his body. His muscles tensed and he could faintly hear Minho give a low groan and then he was coming as well, spilling himself inside Taemin and he felt like he was burning, his skin almost on fire.

Neither of them moved for a little while, Taemin’s body still shuddering with the aftershocks, muscles occasionally tightening of their own accord and drawing soft hisses from Minho, who was still bracing himself on his hands, his head bowed as he panted.

At last, Minho pulled back, withdrawing carefully and then falling to the bed at Taemin’s side. Taemin looked over at him. A lazy smile grew on his face. Minho’s eyes were still closed and his skin was flushed, glowing in the early afternoon sunlight with a slight sheen of sweat. His hair was a mess from Taemin’s fingers. Actually, everything was Taemin’s doing, which he took great pride in.

“You’re staring at me again,” Minho said, his eyes slowly opening.

Taemin pushed himself up on one elbow and leaned in to kiss him. “I like watching you like this.”

“You really are beautiful,” Minho said, rolling over to grab a few tissues and passing them to Taemin to clean up. “I mean it, you know.”

Taemin smiled again, tossing the used tissues in the general direction of the garbage can. “I know.”


	22. Epilogue

Minho sat back on the uncomfortable airport chairs, crossing his legs and watching Taemin pace.

“Honey, sit down.”

Taemin glared at him. “I can’t just sit down.”

“Why not?”

“Because!”

Minho laughed and held out his hand. “Come here, baby.”

Taemin looked between him and the opaque door for international arrivals and then, heaving a heavy sigh, came and sat down beside him. Minho held his arm out and Taemin cuddled against his side, his head resting against Minho’s shoulder. They drew only a few looks, mostly from foreigners, but even some Koreans looked twice.

“There we go,” Minho said. “He’s just landed now. It’ll be a little while. He still has to go through immigration.”

“I am going to go insane,” Taemin proclaimed. Minho just laughed, running his fingers through Taemin’s bangs. “What if he missed the flight?”

“He would have called.”

“What if he decided not to come?” They had had this conversation two or three times already that day, but Minho reminded himself to be patient.

“Honey, he’s coming. You remember how excited he was when you called.” Taemin whined and Minho felt himself smiling, even as he tapped Taemin’s nose. “How old are you again? I know we couldn’t have just had your twenty-sixth birthday.”

He heard a small laugh from the man at his side and decided he’d done his job. Taemin took his hand surreptitiously, curling a little closer. Minho squeezed his fingers gently.

“It’s going to be okay, Taeminnie. He’s going to love you.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“There is no way he couldn’t,” Minho promised.

“But what about--”

Minho made a sharp sound, cutting off what he knew what Taemin was about to say. “He. Will. Love. You.”

Taemin shook his head, but the sight of people coming through the doors silenced him. The first through were the Koreans, most of them businessmen and women, taking off toward company cars. There were a handful who had to have been students coming home from abroad. Then came the Americans, and then, finally, a young man who honestly looked so much like Taemin had that Minho almost had to check to make sure he really was holding Taemin and not someone else.

Taemin sprang to his feet and Minho followed more slowly. His eyes were drawn to the sudden movement and a hesitant smile appeared on his face. He approached them, looking between the two of them.

“Are you Taemin?” he stammered in passable, but heavily accented, Korean. Minho got the feeling he’d been rehearsing it the entire twelve-hour flight.

It appeared Taemin had suddenly been struck dumb and Minho had to nudge him before he was willing to speak.

“Yeah.”

Minho rolled his eyes, holding out his hand to shake. “Taemin,” he admonished quietly. “I’m Minho.”

Jason shook Minho’s hand and then Taemin’s. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “My Korean is not very good.”

“I speak a little English,” Minho said with a smile. “We can figure out. You’re probably starving, right?” At Jason’s blank look, Minho added, “Hungry?” in English.

Jason nodded, a relieved look on his face. “Yes, please.”

“We’ll find you something,” Minho said, bending to pick up the luggage and ushering both Taemin and Jason ahead of him.

“How was the flight?” Taemin asked.

“Long,” Jason said. “Very long.”

Taemin laughed softly, settling his hand on Jason’s shoulder. He was a few centimeters shorter, having to look up just a little to meet Taemin’s gaze. “We’ll pick some food up and then get you to our house so you can sleep.”

“I would love that.”

**Fourteen Years Later**

“Uncle Taemin,” a young girl shrieked, sprinting through the doorway into the backyard. “Make Jenna leave me alone!”

“She started it!” Jenna countered, following only a few steps behind.

Minho caught Jenna by the waist and swung her into the air. She squealed, half out of surprise and half out of joy. By the time Minho set her down, Melissa had made it to the relative safety of Taemin’s legs. She stuck her tongue out at her older sister.

Minho heard an exasperated sigh from behind him. “Girls, _what_ am I going to do with you?”

Kate, Taemin’s sister-in-law, emerged around the same corner the girls had come from. She was within days of having her third child and still somehow managed to keep up with her two daughters.

“She started it,” Jenna insisted, wilting beneath her mother’s glare. “Sorry, Mamma.”

Melissa echoed the sentiment quietly.

“That’s my girls. Now head back inside and get washed up. Your father will be home soon and if I don’t get to eat because he’s chasing you around, your mother will be very angry.”

“Only if Uncle Taemin comes too,” Melissa said. “Jenna’s gonna pinch me.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Taemin swept Melissa up in his arms, forestalling the argument. “I’ll come,” he said, the sound of his English still bringing a fond smile to Minho’s face. “Let’s go girls.”

He managed to troop the two of them back into the house, sending Minho an amused smile as he did so. Minho caught him by the wrist and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“Eww!” Melissa shrieked.

“Shut up,” Jenna ordered. “I think it’s romantic.”

“You think it’s romantic when mommy and daddy kiss too!”

Taemin shook his head, the sounds of the argument disappearing up the stairs with him.

“I don’t know what those two are going to do when their brother’s born,” Kate said, easing herself down into a chair. “I suppose I’ll find out.”

“Kate?” a voice called from the front of the house.

“Backyard,” Kate answered, without deigning to get up.

Jason wandered through the gate, still in his suit from work. He still looked so much like Taemin that it was impossible for them to be anything but brothers. He had grown some since they’d first met him, but Taemin was still a little taller, and Jason had none of the leanness that Minho had learned to associate with dancers, and Taemin in particular. Jason grinned as soon as he saw Minho. It was the exact same smile Taemin wore, although without the edge of bitterness that even sixteen years hadn’t cured. He was who Taemin could have been, had things gone right.

Minho stood to greet him with a hug, which Jason returned with such enthusiasm that Minho couldn’t quite breathe.

“You made it! When did you get here?”

“About three hours ago,” Minho answered. “Taemin’s upstairs with the girls.”

“He would have made a good father,” Kate said, nodding toward the house. Taemin was just walking out with Melissa holding on to one hand and Jenna skipping behind them. “Have you ever thought about adopting?”

Minho shook his head, twisting his lips. “Legally, we can’t. Even if we could, I don’t think Taemin would want it. He has a hard enough time with his little brother knowing what he had to do to survive; he wouldn’t want his children to know.”

Kate patted his hand. “Well, you’ve always got our three.”

He smiled. “We’re Jonghyun’s default babysitters, too. We have kids on two continents; that’s probably more than most people can say.”

“He’s well. He said to say he’s sorry he couldn’t be there, but Amber can’t travel right now. They just had their second and, to hear Amber tell it, their last. It’s two boys for them, now.”

“He’s well. They just had their second and, to hear Amber tell it, their last. It’s two boys for them, now.”

“Just like their father?” Jason asked.

Minho nodded. “Exactly like.”

“She’s right to draw the line,” Kate said, grinning up at her husband. “I don’t think I could handle one Jonghyun, much less two.”

Taemin left the two girls to play and came over to greet his brother, hugging him just as enthusiastically as Jason had greeted Minho. Once they let go, Taemin took his usual seat at Minho’s side, taking his hand.

Minho couldn’t help the pride that welled up in his chest, seeing the two of them together. While Taemin had physically healed, with the exception of a single pale scar along his forehead that Minho usually managed not to see, some nights he still woke to find Taemin crying out in his sleep or even worse, rubbing listlessly at the inside of his elbow. Those nights were rare now, and could usually be soothed just by taking his hand and kissing him gently.

Taemin looked at him for a few more seconds and tugged on his hand, moving with him a few paces away. Kate and Jason gave them their space, chatting about Jason’s day at work. He left after a few minutes to change out of his work clothes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Taemin asked him softly in Korean.

“I’m fine. I was just thinking. We know that’s never good.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was just wishing things could have been different for you.”

“Still?” Taemin was watching him with a careful expression, as though it were Minho who woke up with nightmares and not him.

“I know it’s silly.”

“Minho, I’m _happy_. I’ve never been as happy as I am with you, so you need to stop worrying. If it all hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be with you. I’d be, I don’t know, dead or stuck in some stupid, boring job.”

“The second one is obviously the worst,” Minho observed dryly.

Taemin grinned. “Can you imagine me sitting at a desk all day? I probably would have killed someone by now.”

“You would make a _very_ nice secretary.”

Taemin shoved at his shoulder. “Watch it. My baby brother is here.”

“Taemin, he’s thirty-five and he has three children. I don’t think he has any innocence for you to protect at this point.”

“Taemin,” Jason called, emerging through the back door. Dressed in his casual clothes, he looked even more like his older brother. “Where did you say Jinki went?”

“Kibum has never really had a chance to leave Seoul, so Jinki took him to Australia, Egypt, and Norway, as an anniversary gift, but they were planning on getting here tomorrow so Kibum be here when the baby’s born,” Taemin answered, moving back toward them and reclaiming his seat at the picnic table.

“Jinki called earlier,” Minho offered. “He said their flight gets in about two. They’re calling a cab to get them to their hotel and they’ll make plans after that, depending on how things are going for you.”

“Honey, can you check on the grill?” Kate asked. When Jason stood up to do her bidding, she added, “I can’t believe they’re flying all the way out here just for us.”

“Kibum _really_ likes babies,” Taemin said. “I think he’s secretly planning to steal yours and bring him back to Korea. Jonghyun keeps foiling his kidnapping attempts on his children, so he probably plans to spring it on an unsuspecting you.”

“I’ll be prepared,” Kate promised. “How’s it looking?”

“It’s done. Girls, come and sit down! Food’s ready.”

Minho stooped to kiss Taemin once on the cheek before moving to the grill to help Jason serve the food.

Kibum accepted the blue bundle from Jason, folding it into his arms and looking down at the tiny, wrinkled baby face. He was sleeping, eyes closed and lashes dark against his skin.

“What’s his name?” Kibum asked in Korean, running his finger gently down the baby’s skin.

“Taemin.”

“Really?” Jason nodded silently and Kibum felt tears stinging his eyes. He blinked them away. “It has to mean a lot to him.”

“My brother never got a real childhood… I want to be able to make it up to him somehow. He’s never said it, but I know that our mother, whoever she was, left him because she was pregnant with me, and it wasn’t fair that I got adopted and he had the streets and… and everything. It could have been different for him, if… I just want to do something for him.”

“If I know Taemin at all, he loves it.”

They stood in silence for a few long minutes. Kibum held the baby in his arms, a little overwhelmed with the promise it held. It wasn’t like he was waxing particularly poetic about the meaning of life or any of that—he’d been around long enough to know it was bullshit. It was about what it meant for Taemin, that he could have a childhood through this boy. Jason reached out and ran his finger along his son’s cheek.

“Watch over my son for me,” Jason said. “I need to go see my wife.”

Kibum smiled in response, already looking back down at the child in his arms. He’d been standing in the so-late-it’s-early silence for a few minutes when he felt an arm slip around his waist and Jinki stuck his head over Kibum’s shoulder.

“He’s beautiful.”

Kibum nodded. “He named him after Taemin.”

“I know. He’s thrown himself into Minho’s arms and won’t let go.”

“Typical,” Kibum said with a soft laugh. “Look at him, Jinki.”

The baby had just stirred, opening his dark eyes and looking up at them, fingers stretching and then half-curling closed again. Jinki offered his pinkie finger to him, slipping it within Taemin’s grip.

“Hello, Taeminnie,” Jinki said. The large, dark eyes focused on him for a second and then flicked back to Kibum.

“We’re your uncles, Taeminnie. We’re going to make sure you get completely spoiled rotten, okay?” Kibum kissed him gently on the forehead. “And just wait until you meet the other Taemin. He’s going to be worse than either of us. You’re going to love him.” He looked up at Jinki. “Do you want to hold him?”

Jinki’s eyes grew momentarily wide with surprise. “I’ll drop him.”

“You won’t drop him,” Kibum said, but he didn’t move to pass Taemin on, which seemed to relieve Jinki immensely.

Choosing a lull in their conversation, a nurse came from the station. “It’s time for him to eat now.”

Kibum passed him off carefully, slipping his now-free arm around Jinki’s waist and tucking his head beneath Jinki’s jaw.

“I want one,” Kibum proclaimed.

Jinki laughed. “They’re not puppies, Kibum.”

“Well, I want one of those, too.”

“I’ll get you a puppy. I’m not sure where I can get you a baby.”

Kibum sighed dramatically. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you these things?”

“Her lessons didn’t generally include how two men would go about getting babies, no.”

“ _Kidnapping_ ,” Kibum whispered. “You distract Kate, I’ll make sure Minho and Taemin are talking to Jason, and I’ll snatch Taemin--baby Taemin, I don’t want the big one, and--”

“No kidnapping,” Jinki interrupted, but he was wearing that smile that still made Kibum go a little weak at the knees. “Puppies first.”

“Well, all right.”

“Should we go see if Minho needs rescuing?” Jinki suggested.

Kibum nodded, taking Jinki’s hand firmly in his own and letting him lead the way back to the waiting room. He could see through Taemin through the glass door, his eyes closed and his head resting against Minho’s shoulder. Minho had a gentle smile on his face, running his fingers through Taemin’s hair. He looked up when they entered and put a finger to his lips.

“Let him sleep for a little while. He’s been up a long time.”

Kibum took a seat across from them, curling against Jinki’s side. His eyes gradually closed and the last thing he felt before he fell asleep as well was Jinki pressing a soft kiss to his temple, and fingers brushing a strand of hair out of his face. **Super Special Bonus Scene**

Jinki pulled his phone out of his carry-on while the plane taxied toward the gate. Kibum was leaning forward in the seat, rubbing at his eyes. While his phone was powering back up, he reached out and ran his knuckles along Kibum’s cheek. His boyfriend looked over at him, a faint smile on his face.

“Good morning,” Kibum mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Just after two in the afternoon here. You slept the last eight hours of the flight.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“A little.” His phone buzzed that he had a message and he gave Kibum a quick smile, holding the phone up to his ear.


End file.
